


the white gulls are calling

by moonythejedi394



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aman (Tolkien), Angst with a Happy Ending, Creation Myth, Elves, Fluff and Angst, Galadriel's prologue, Gimli is confused, Immortality, Legolas is sad, Lullabies, M/M, Main Character Death bc it's a reincarnation fic he actually has to die, Mortality, NOBODY MOVE, POV Gimli, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Sailing To Valinor, The Valar, Thranduil's A+ Parenting, Tolkien Speak, Undying Lands, i dropped me dignity, ignore my babbling, mild angst tho, that's one of my fav tags btw, the song of the sea, wait no nvm never had it to start with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 05:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: It has been more five thousand years since the War of the Ring. The world has entered the Ninth Age, with technology and science replacing the myths and magics of old. Elves are like unicorns, the Valar are children's stories, and much has been forgotten that should have been passed through generations. Those few of the Ring-Bearer's companions that are remembered are remembered as legends, with many sharing their names as tribute to their legacy.Gimli, son of Talan, remembers something though. Or rather, he almost remembers something. Every night he dreams of someone, or more often about things revolving that someone, and in the morning, he can never remember the name of that important person. He remembers that he hates the gulls that cry by the sea, he remembers the lullaby his uncle supposedly taught his mother though his mother doesn't remember teaching it to him, and he remembers that he has to remember that someone's name. It just takes a while.





	the white gulls are calling

**Author's Note:**

> _once again, here is proof that i am trash._

* * *

**_the white gulls are calling_ **

 

 

 

 _The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air._ _Much that once was, is lost. For none now live who remember it…_

_It began first, with the Music of the Ainur. Eru Ilúvatar, forefather and forebearer of all that was to come, and with him the Ainur, consisting of the Valar and the Maiar. To these, the Father of All taught the art of Music, and their songs filled all that was. With the Ainur came Melkor, and his discordant chords that were to be the foundings of evil._

_Ilúvatar showed to the Ainur his vision of what was to be and as Ilúvatar commanded it, thus Eä was born. Ilúvatar wished to populate this new world with his Children, with Elves, who would be called the Firstborn, and with Men, who would be called the Afterborn. Ilúvatar desired for his children to be perfect, and in crafting the Firstborn, he took his time. He sent the Valar to dwell in the new land that was to be the home of his children, which he called Arda, in a place called Valinor upon the continent of Aman, to add to the music of the world._

_But amongst the Valar was one who wished desperately for pupils to teach his wisdom and knowledge to, and as Eru Ilúvatar had not yet finished in his creation of the Firstborn, so Aulë made for himself his own children, whom he called the Dwarves. Seven he made, though with little knowledge of what the Children of Ilúvatar would look like. He crafted them to take after him, to love the stone and the gems of the Earth, to be strong and unyielding towards those who would seek to dominate them, but without free thought or will._

_Upon realizing that Aulë had made for himself a race of Children without his permission, Ilúvatar asked_ of _him why he had overstepped his bounds in such a way. Aulë said in his defence that he only wished to teach and to create, as Ilúvatar had made him. Humbled, Aulë raised his hammer to destroy his creation, and the Dwarves cowered before him; Ilúvatar breathed life into the Dwarves and stayed Aulë’s hand in acceptance of their existence. Yet Ilúvatar still insisted that his Children, the Elves, would be the Firstborn, and thus the Dwarves were put_ in _a deep sleep, to await the coming of the Elves._

_At Cuiviénen, the Water of the Awakening, the Elves did thus wake. Immortal, fair, and above all wise, the Elves were created in pairs Ilúvatar, and at first only three. As more awakened, the first three took for themselves clans, in final numbering only one hundred and forty-four. These were to be the ancestors of the Ñoldor, the Lindar, later called the Teleri, and the Vanyar. They called themselves the Quendi, or Those Who Speak. While at first they knew naught but peace and harmony, the workings of Melkor did not stay from them long. Melkor long harassed them from a distance with evil spirits so that when the other Valar found them, they would be afraid. And afraid they were; when Oromë, the Lord of the Forests and the Huntsman, came upon them, they cowered and many ran, and those that did were captured by Melkor’s agents and twisted into disfigured imitations, the Orcs. Oromë, however, soon proved himself to be different from the evil that Melkor had sent to plague them, and stayed with them to learn and, in turn, teach._

_But there remained the problem of Melkor. When Oromë returned to Valinor, he spoke with the king of the Valar, Manwë, to tell of his discovery of the Firstborn of the Children of Ilúvatar before returning once more. It was then decided, for the sake of the Elves, that Melkor had to be abolished. Thus the Valar went to war against one of their own, and in time, Melkor was imprisoned. The Elves knew nothing but that the ground shook and the sky quaked, until Oromë returned once again, this time with a summons by the Valar to the land of Aman. The Elves sent three, and when those three returned, they spoke of the beauty and of the bliss that covered the lands of Aman and urged their kin to take up and go there to live. Nearly all of them agreed, and while some chose to remain, all Elves would then on feel the call of the sea. Thus the Elves were spread across Middle Earth and Arda._

_But unlike the Firstborn, the Afterborn, or the race of Men, were mortal. This was called the Gift of Men, for when they died, their spirit was given an urge to continue, to move on from the physical plane, but unlike the Dwarves, whose spirits were taken into the Halls of Aulë, whom they called Mahal, they were to move on to worlds far away, and some were even persuaded to return, for the true Gift of Men was reincarnation._

_But as in all peoples, the races of Dwarves, Elves, and Men, and later even Hobbits, were not to be so fully closed off that they would never intermingle. It soon came that the Gift of Men, as it was called, would be given away the children of Men and others; Hobbits, whose origins were lost, took it as a race. Elves married Men and their children were given the Gift and Dwarves married Men, and their children were given the gift. The race of Men shared their Gift with those they loved, and for many, it was indeed a blessing._

_And thus was the story of old. Long ago did the last of the Elves give into sea-longing, for they were immortal, they still felt love for those that are mortal, and it was that love that would cause the death of many an Elf, that grief that caused an Elf to not only Fade, but to become lost forever, their Fëa fled in search of that which it had loved so dearly._

 

_And some things, that should not have been forgotten, were lost. History became legend, legend became myth._

 

_The plight of Elves and the true Gift of Men faded from all knowledge, becoming mere folk stories and old wives’ tales._

_But for some, the Gift of Men was given not as a birthright, but as a spoil of war. As payment for service to the Valar, the souls of some were allowed to return to Arda to seek out those they had loved and lost long, long ago. Those few who the Valar owed a debt, who ended wars, who saw the installment of peace and prosperity, those who ended millennia long blood feuds, those such as the First Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, called Elf-Friend and Lockbearer, for he was worthy of earning the gift three strands of the Lady Galadriel's hair – whom not even Fëanor, one of the mightiest of all Elves, was worthy –, dubbed Silvertongue, and above all, the first Dwarf to ever set foot upon the shores of Aman: Gimli Glóinul._

 

“Okay, that’s crap,” Gimli called around a mouthful of popcorn.

 

“It’s true!” Julia snapped, shutting the heavy book in front of her with an even sharper sound. “Your precious forefather was given the Gift of Men!”

 

“But why would a Dwarf go to Aman?” Gimli questioned her. “It doesn’t make any sense, Dwarves like the solid earth beneath our feet, not wayward islands!”

 

“I don’t know,” Julia said with a shrug. “Maybe the Valar offered him a place there?”

 

“The Valar aren’t real,” insisted Zach. Gimli pointed to him, victorious that his friend was taking his side. “And if Aman was real, why has no one found it yet?”

 

Julia glared at the two of them, crossing her arms over her chest and attempting – and failing – to look at them sternly. Young Hobbits such as she rarely could. “The Valar _are_ real, you dumbies, and you’d better stop being rude about them before they smite you or something.”

 

“Hey, Eru!” Zach shouted, jumping up and putting his fists on his hips in a manner that reminded Gimli of his mother. “If you’re real, send something terrible after us all!”

 

“Shut up!” Julia squealed, but Zach only shouted again.

 

“Smite us all!” Zach shouted, and Julia succeeded in tackling him around the knees, toppling him onto a pile of floor pillows.

 

“What’s making all that noise?” came the voice of Zach’s mother. Gimli scrambled to hide his bowl of popcorn just as the woman herself strode into the room. “What are you three doing?”

 

“Nothing!” Zach, Julia, and Gimli all cried – Children will often claim _nothing_ when faced with an adult who could threaten them with chores, or worse, homework.

 

“Nothing, hmm?” Zach’s mother said with a sniff. “Then how about you come and make yourselves useful, I’ve got groceries to unload.”

 

“Aww,” the three children all groaned, but Zach’s mother only beckoned them further, and they allowed themselves to be summoned into her service. Julia only leaned in once to say in a carrying whisper to Zach: “This is what you get for asking Eru to smite us!”

 

* * *

 

_“‘Amad? Why are you crying?”_

 

_“Oh! Oh, inùdoy, I… I did not hear you.”_

 

_“‘Amad, what is wrong?”_

 

_“I… I miss someone, inùdoy.”_

 

_“I am here, ‘amad, I am with you. No one is gone, we are all safe.”_

 

_“No, no, that is not it, inùdoy. I miss someone who left a very long time ago.”_

 

_“Who?”_

 

_“I do not think you would remember him, inùdoy.”_

 

_“Your parents?”_

 

_“My uncle, my great-uncle. He and his husband left a long time before you were born.”_

 

_“They died?"_

 

_“No, no, though, well, maybe Uncle is dead by now. I do not know if even the Undying Lands can make mortal immortal.”_

 

_“What? The Undying Lands? ‘Amad, what are you talking about?”_

 

_“My uncle’s husband was an Elf. Legolas was his name. Is. They took the journey across the sea some fifty years before you were born.”_

 

_“But… The Undying Lands are only for Elves. Dwarves aren’t to go there.”_

 

_“Ha! That is what we said, but Legolas took my uncle with him anyway. He never returned, so I suppose they did not deny him. Legolas was often like that, you know, he did not care what others thought, he did what he had to do anyway.”_

 

_“They must have really loved each other…”_

 

_“Oh, yes. Very much so, inùdoy. My uncle would call Legolas Ghivashelê and Âzyungeluh with his every sentence, Legolas would in turn call him meleth and elen nín. Their love brought our feud with the Elves to an end.”_

 

_“I have never feuded with an Elf, ‘amad. Well, except Tilian, but that’s because she’s rude.”_

 

_“Tilian is rude because she is fond of you, inùdoy.”_

 

_“Wait, what?”_

 

_“Ah, inùdoy, how much you have still left to learn!”_

 

_“But I don’t… I didn’t – I don’t like Tilian!”_

 

_“It’s alright, Gimli, you’re young, Tilian merely fancies you. But, still, if you did not know, you should learn.”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli, later at home, sought out the ancient tapestry that marked his family’s genealogy, humming to himself an old lullaby as he walked through the dark corridors. Julia’s book of stories had made him curious about his ancestor and namesake. Talk of Sauron and the One Ring of Power was good and all, but Gimli was curious not about his ancestor’s great deeds or titles, but of that one strange detail: His ancestor’s journey to the fabled shores of Aman.

 

His mother had told him the tales, yes; the dwarves of old had fought with the Elves, but no one really believed in _Elves_ anymore and no one could ever find Aman, so no one really believed it existed. But if it had, or something like it had, why would his ancestor have ever gone there?

 

“... the white gulls are crying,” he whispered under his breath, then he frowned and shone his flashlight around the room. “Where is that thing?”

 

The tapestry had long since put away, as sunlight was likely to damage it and ruin it forever. It took him a very long time to seek it out in the very depths of Aglarond, locked behind glass in a frame of gold leaf.

 

Gimli shone his flashlight onto it. At the top, there was the faded portrait in golden thread with the scrawl beneath it labeling it _Durin._ Gimli followed the line of gold down the blue to another name he recognized, _Thorin._ Thorin had no children nor spouse, he saw, which was rather sad; Julia swore that Thorin had loved the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins, uncle of the Ring-bearer, Frodo Baggins, but that was because Julia was a Hobbit herself and she thought it romantic. Thorin was supposed to have been a cousin of some sort to Gimli’s ancestor – There!

 

 _Glóin_ , connected to _Mizim_ , of the Firebeards by the red border on her portrait, who had two children, _Gimli_ and _Gimrís_ . There was gold connecting _Gimrís_ to another dwarf and leading on to her children, who were Gimli’s own actual ancestors, as his namesake never had children. But even as he stepped closer, there was faded gold drawing to another portrait and to another name.

 

Gimli could make out only an _L_ before the damage done by the sun stopped him. In the past two thousand years, much had been forgotten, that Julia was right about, and with it, the name and identity of his namesake’s spouse.

 

He wondered why it was they didn’t have children.

 

“Gim! Gimli, where are you?”

 

“In here!” Gimli shouted out in response to his mother’s call. Still, he did not move from the tapestry.

 

“There you are. What are you looking at?”

 

He heard his mother’s footsteps, then felt her presence at his side. Gimli peered ever harder at the name connected to his namesakes. Perhaps the next letter was an _e_ or an _a_?

 

“Gimli?”

 

“Sorry,” Gimli answered, shaking out of his reverie. “Sorry, just, I was trying to see –”

 

“Better weavers than you have tried to discern what the sun has taken from us,” his mother said gravely. “It would not do to waste your young eyes trying to read words long ago lost.”

 

“I’m not that young,” Gimli protested, even as his mother took his arm and led him away from the tapestry, “I’ll be thirty soon!”

 

His mother laughed and patted his head, his haphazard braids bouncing under her hand. “Yes, my boy, for seven months is soon!”

 

“It is!” Gimli protested. “And not long after that, I’ll be out of school!”

 

“Sure, my dear,” his mother chuckled. “You are all grown up indeed, in fact, so grown up that you are able to care for children yourself!”

 

“No!” Gimli gasped, knowing what was coming, and it only made his mother laugh harder.

 

“Your cousin’s in need of a babysitter for the evening, and I said you’d be happy to do it.”

 

“Do I at least get paid?” Gimli begged.

 

“Aye, she’ll give you twenty dollars when she and her husband get home.”

 

“Alright, fine,” Gimli said, “but only because I want to save up to buy the new Assassin’s Creed game!”

 

“Another one already?” he heard his mother mutter as he raced ahead. “Ah, brother, how you would have loved your namesake…”

 

* * *

 

_“Gimli, my wee lad, c’mere!”_

 

_“I’m not a wee lad, anymore, ‘adad!”_

 

 _“Aye, but you’ll always be_ my _wee lad!”_

 

_“Mahal’s beard, adad…”_

 

_“Now, I heard that, inùdoy. Come here before you blaspheme any worse!”_

 

_“Ach, what I wouldn’t give for a pint of ale…”_

 

_“Eh? Stop yer mutterings, my son, my hearing’s getting worse by the second.”_

 

_“I know, that’s why I muttered it…”_

 

_“C’mere, I want to practice my speech for the anniversary!”_

 

_“I’m listening, ‘adad.”_

 

_“Aglarond was founded 550 years ago today, by my great-great uncle, the first of his name, Gimli Silvertongue, son of Glóin, son of Gróin, Elf-Friend and Lockbearer! It is now more than 400 years since my uncle set sail for the fair shores of Aman with his husband, Legolas of the Greenwood…”_

 

* * *

 

“Gimli, you don’t look so good,” his mother said at breakfast the next morning, her hand at his forehead before he could even open his mouth. “Are you alright? You feel clammy.”

 

“Weird dream,” Gimli muttered, dropping into his chair without another word. The dream had left him unsettled. He remembered next to nothing, just flashes, vague feelings, perhaps he’d been at a party? Or a ceremony? Had he been in his home in Aglarond or elsewhere? He remembered nothing, nothing but a single word, and already it was fading. It had been a name, lyrical almost, with rolling syllables and – and…

 

And it was gone. Gimli gave up trying and tucked into his oatmeal, not wanting to worry his mother anymore. She was packing up her things to leave, she was close to finishing her mastery as a scribe. She knew rather a lot about words.

 

“What does _inùdoy_ mean?” he asked suddenly.

 

His mother stopped, frowning. “I honestly don’t know,” she answered as she cocked her head at him. “Where did you hear it?”

 

“I heard it in a dream,” he told her. His mother shared glances with his father, and his sister slowly set down her spoon. “I was talking to dad, except it wasn’t actually dad, this guy was _way_ older, and he called me _inùdoy_. I was just wondering what it meant. I called him ‘adad too!”

 

“‘Adad,” she murmured, then she knelt down beside him. “Are you sure, son?”

 

“Yeah,” he answered. “Why?”

 

“‘Adad is an old word,” his father spoke. Gimli looked at him, his frown growing. “A Khuzdul word. It means father.”

 

“What’s Khuzdul?” Gimli asked.

 

“It’s a dead language,” his mother said. “Dwarves of old used to speak it, it was a secret language, kept from other races, but eventually, we stopped using it so much and we forgot it.”

 

“Oh,” Gimli murmured. He felt a little sad, then. “I guess you don’t know what Giva– _Ghivashelê_ means either?”

 

“No,” his mother whispered.

 

“Or _meleth_?”

 

His parents froze. They exchanged glances, the both of them going pale, and Gimli wondered if he had just said some horrible curse.

 

“That’s not Dwarvish, I know that much,” his father said gravely.

 

“It sounds… It sounds almost like Sindarin,” his mother murmured.

 

“What’s Sindarin?” Idris asked.

 

“Another… dead language,” his mother said softly. “Gimli, do you think you’d like to come with me to the records hall tomorrow? You could learn from the other master scribes instead. Perhaps they might recognize your funny words?”

 

“Yeah!” Gimli said with delight. “Could we go today?”

 

“No, dear, you’ve got to go to school, but tomorrow is a Saturday, so you can come then.”

 

“Okay,” he grumbled, and his mother chuckled at him and kissed his forehead.

 

“Have a good day,” she said to him, moving on to kiss Idris and his dad.

 

“Bye, mum!” they called after her.

 

* * *

 

_“Gimli, son of Gimzir, at your service!”_

 

_“Naín, son of Baín, at yours and your family’s! How may I help the grandson of the Lord of Aglarond?”_

 

_“I come in search of a records book, friend, perhaps you will know it.”_

 

_“I should, I am Chief of the Scribes of Aglarond, and none have studied its records so thoroughly as I have!”_

 

_“Then show me, if you will, to the records of the first interactions between Aglarond and the colony of Elves that came to Ithilien from Mirkwood?”_

 

_“The Moon-land? Aye, there are many, too many to give you in one go! Perhaps you could be more specific?”_

 

_“I am looking for a name, I cannot be sure to whom it belongs, but they would have been close to Aglarond’s founder, my namesake.”_

 

_“That doesnae help me, friend, Lord Gimli Silvertongue was a dwarf with many close friends and connections.”_

 

_“It would have been an elf, though, and in that time friendship with an elf was strange enough, wasn’t it?”_

 

_“‘Twas, but our Lord Gimli was not called Elf-Friend for nothing!”_

 

_“What about the Nine Walkers, one of them was an Elf, it could have been him.”_

 

_“You’ll forgive me if my knowledge of the Second Age is not the greatest; you refer to the Nine Walkers who saw the Destruction of the One Ring? Do you mean Legolas of the Greenwood?”_

 

_“Yes! Yes, that is the name, thank you!”_

 

_“Yes – but where are you going? Did you not want to see the records?”_

 

* * *

 

“Morning, all!” his mother called as she stepped into the records hall.

 

“Good morning, Sigrid!” answered the dwarves inside. His mother gave his hand a scolding tug, as Gimli had already started to wander away. He pursed his lips in a scowl and let her pull him away from the glass case of swords, towards the back of the hall through the multitude of bookshelves. Gimli looked with wide eyes at the shelves, ten times the height of a fully grown dwarf, stretching up to the vaulted ceiling. Each shelf had strong, heavy bases, made of unyielding stone, with ladders and pulleys attached to each one to make reaching the tops easier.

 

“Morning, Sȃroct,” his mother said in polite greeting, coming to a halt. Gimli nearly bumped into her; he’d been busy looking at the beautiful ceiling.

 

“Good morning to you,” said Sȃroct with almost a yawn. “Did you bring coffee? It’s much too early to be working on a Saturday.”

 

“I did, and I brought my son with me as well. He has a few questions for you.”

 

“Does he know?” Sȃroct leaned over the edge of his desk to peer at Gimli over the tops of his spectacles. “And what might those questions be?”

 

“Do you know any Khuzdul?” Gimli asked.

 

Sȃroct blinked. Then he leaned back and laughed a deep, booming laugh and pulled his spectacles from his face to clean them on his shirt. “My dear child, my speciality is dead languages,” Sȃroct said merrily to him. “I am no expert on Khuzdul, but I know a fair bit.”

 

“What does _inùdoy_ mean?”

 

Then Sȃroct’s jolly grin slipped a little, and he frowned down at Gimli. “It means son,” he said, a little puzzled.

 

“And what does _Ghivashelê_ mean?”

 

“It – It means…” Sȃroct frowned even harder and he leaned back again. “It sounds like _Ghivasha_ , could that be what you mean?”

 

“No, I mean _Ghivashelê_ ,” Gimli assured him.

 

“ _Ghivasha_ means treasure,” Sȃroct murmured. Then the old dwarf leaned in and peered at Gimli with even more curiosity. “Where did you hear these words, m’lad?”

 

“In a dream,” Gimli said. “There was something else I heard, too, something really important, but I can never remember what it was!”

 

“He heard one more word,” his mother said abruptly. “ _Meleth_.”

 

Sȃroct blinked at her, then let out his breath in a heavy stream and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “That’s not Khuzdul,” he said, looking at Gimli with a furrowed brow.

 

“Am I right in thinking that it’s Sindarin?”

 

“It means love,” Sȃroct replied. “It is Sindarin.”

 

“What’s Sindarin?” Gimli asked with a frown to match Sȃroct’s.

 

“To be truthful, m’lad, no one really knows what culture spoke Sindarin,” Sȃroct answered. “Most assume it was another clan of dwarves from the far west.”

 

Gimli frowned, trying to think back to the dream where he had heard that word, but he could not think further than the dream he’d had the night before. Something green, something light and lyrical… There was still that name, the one that was important, but he couldn’t remember it.

 

“You dreamed of these words?” Sȃroct asked him.

 

“Yes, but they weren’t the point, it was the person…”

 

“What person?” his mother asked him with growing surprise.

 

“Someone special, I think if I called them _Ghivashelê_ and they called me _meleth_.”

 

“Why would you call this person a treasure?” Sȃroct asked him with rising eyebrows.

 

“I don’t know,” Gimli answered. “Why would they call me love?”

 

“What else did they call you?” his mother asked, her tone dropping.

 

“ _Elen_ !” he said. “I remember that one, _elen nín_.”

 

“ _Nín_ is a possessive pronoun,” Sȃroct mused, “though I do not know what _elen_ means.”

 

“Well, I think it was something sappy too,” Gimli said. “I used to know his name, but when I wake up, it’s always gone!”

 

“His name?” his mother repeated.

 

“When did you start having these dreams, Gimli?” Sȃroct asked him quietly.

 

“I don’t know,” Gimli answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve always had them.”

 

“Are they always about this person?”

 

“No, well, yes, but they’re more about me talking about him, or me talking to people talking about him. I haven’t talked to him ever, at least, not that I remember.” Gimli frowned, wondering if he had dreamt of _Ghivashelê_ and the dreams had just fled his memory before dawn.

 

“Do you dream these things every night?”

 

“Most nights,” Gimli answered with a shrug.

 

Sȃroct looked up at his mother, the older dwarf’s lips parted slightly as he raised his eyebrows. His mother’s arm stiffened beside him.

 

“You’re not suggesting –”

 

“He speak with Aiyal? Aye, I am.”

 

“Aiyal will want to pull him from school and take him as an apprentice, he’s only a child!”

 

“But this – My friend, he knows words _I_ do not know, from languages long dead and mysterious! If this is consistent –”

 

“He’s not having true-dreams or anything, his mind must be making it up.”

 

“And is his mind making up words like _meleth_ and _Ghivashelê_?”

 

His mother was silent. Then she bowed her head and sighed.

 

“I will think about it,” she said finally. “Gimli, you can go play a game on my computer, the one on my desk.”

 

“But –”

 

“Gimli, go.”

 

He released his mother’s hand, hesitated, then turned away. He sat down at his mother’s desk and turned on the computer, frowning. What was so special about dead languages anyway?

 

* * *

 

_“You have a beautiful son, namadith.”_

 

_“Thank you. I only wish his father…”_

 

_“He is watching from the Halls of Mahal, Hamad.”_

 

_“Yes, yes I am sure he is. I’ll – I’ll name him for his father.”_

 

_“It will be an honorable name. Namadith, please, do not cry, I know it hurts.”_

 

_“Ah! Gimli, you do not know! You have never felt this pain, you have never loved like I loved Gamli!”_

 

_“... No… No, I have not.”_

 

 _“I –_ hic _– I did not mean that.”_

 

_“No, no, you did, and you’re right. I have not loved another like you loved your husband.”_

 

_“I’m sorry…”_

 

_“Do not apologize, Hamad. You – You are right.”_

 

_“Oh, he’s crying, oh, what do I do, I don’t know how to soothe a bairn, I don’t know what to do!”_

 

_“Give him here, namadith. I used to soothe you and I can soothe him.”_

 

_“I don’t know what I’ll do. Gamli was always better with little ones than me.”_

 

_“I will teach you. I was grown when you were born, after all. They like to hear singing, remember, namadith? There now, shhh… To the sea, to the sea, the white gulls are crying…”_

 

* * *

 

“Dammit! Idris, stop walking in front of the TV!”

 

“Stop monopolizing the living room, then!” his sister snapped back. Gimli growled and leaned to look around her.

 

“I’m in the middle of a boss fight!”

 

“I don’t give a flying fu –”

 

“Idris, you already owe twenty dollars to the swear jar, do you really want to finish your sentence?”

 

“Mahal’s balls,” Idris hissed and stalked away. Gimli settled back on the sofa and rolled to avoid a hit from the boss on his screen.

 

“Gimli, did you do your homework?”

 

“Yes, mum!”

 

“Really? You did your math homework, too?”

 

“Yes! Dammit, now I’m dead!”

 

“Good, then you can come do this stack of math homework on the dining room table with your name on it.”

 

“Muum, that’s not due until Friday!”

 

“Today is Wednesday, Gimli!”

 

“It’s only fractions, mum, those aren’t hard.” Still, he exited the game and got up from the couch, walking into the dining room with a scowl. His mother matched his scowl, then made a face at him and he let out a snort. She smiled and patted his shoulder, pushing him towards the table.

 

“Do you want my help?”

 

“No, I can do it.”

 

“Call me if you need me then,” she said.

 

“Hey, what does _namadith_ mean?” Gimli asked her. She stopped and turned around, frowning at him.

 

“Sister, I think,” she said. “At least, _namad_ means sister. Did you – Are you still having those dreams?”

 

Gimli nodded. His mother sighed and sat down next to him.

 

“Are they still about that special person?” she asked quietly.

 

Gimli shook his head. “Not always, not anymore. Sometimes they’re just me talking to other people, family, usually, but I don’t always recognize them. I dream about you a lot, though!”

 

His mother smiled. “Of course you do, I’m your mother.”

 

“No, I dream about you being my sister. I don’t call you _namad_ though.”

 

His mother’s smile faltered a moment, then it was back and she was nodding at him. “Sure, dear. Maybe you’ll be a writer one day, with your imagination.”

 

Gimli frowned as she got up and walked away. His dreams felt more like memories than daydreams.

 

* * *

 

_“Hail, Lord Gimli, sixth of that name, son of Hama, son of Gamli!”_

 

_“Oh, will you give it a rest, Drorì, I’m no more of the lordly type than you.”_

 

_“Aye, but one of us is to be named Lord of Aglarond, and one of us is a simple cobbler!”_

 

_“And one of us is about to get knocked over the head if he doesn’t stop shouting.”_

 

_“Aw, have ye got a wee headache, there, lad? Do you need me to nurse your wounds and sing you to sleep?”_

 

_“I’ll show you something you can nurse, Drorì…”_

 

_“That’ll be the day!”_

 

_“Can you stop being so damned cheerful?”_

 

 _“Nope, not until you tell me what’s on your mind.”_ _  
_

 

 _“I had a strange dream last night.”_ _  
_

 

_“A dream? When has a dream bothered you so much that it makes you into a right knob?”_

 

_“This one was different, Drorì, there was someone there, someone I knew once…”_

 

_“Who was it?”_

 

_“That’s the problem, I can never remember the name!”_

 

_“Never? You’ve had this dream before?”_

 

 _“No… But I’ve had dreams_ about _this before, about_ him _.”_

 

_“What’s so special about this mystery-boy, then, eh?”_

 

_“I knew him once.”_

 

_“You’ve said that, yes, but why’s that special? Ya knew my sister once, and she’s no better off for it.”_

 

_“Oh, shut up, we were both drunk.”_

 

_“Doesn’t change the fact that you slept with my sister and you’re not her One.”_

 

_“I think he was my One, once.”_

 

_“Once? What do you mean, once?”_

 

_“In another life, maybe.”_

 

_“That’s nonsense, Gimli. You know as well as I do that Dwarves do not have other lives, we die, we go to the Halls of Mahal, that’s it.”_

 

 _“But what if_ I _have had another life, and this – whoever he is, he was there once! He was important to me then!”_

 

_“Gimli, you’re scaring me. You’ve never talked this way before.”_

 

_“I knew I shouldn’t have come to you. I knew you would mock me.”_

 

_“I’m not mocking you, lad, I’m concerned!”_

 

_“Never mind, Drorì, just forget I said anything.”_

 

_“This sort of thing is hard to forget! You’re talking crazy, Gimli, Dwarves do not get the Gift of Men!”_

 

_“I know, I know… Still… I can’t explain why I dream of this person, someone I’ve never met, an Elf…”_

 

_“An Elf? Mahal’s balls, Gimli, the last Elf to walk Middle Earth left for Aman almost a thousand years ago, half the world of men thinks they never existed in the first place!”_

 

_“I know that, Drorì! I don’t know what these dreams of mine mean, either!”_

 

_“I think you should talk to a Seer.”_

 

_“No. I won’t do that.”_

 

_“Yes, you should! They’ll be able to tell you why you’re dreaming these things, to fix this!”_

 

_“Maybe I don’t want to be fixed, hmm? Maybe I just want to remember what his fucking name was!”_

 

_“Gimli!”_

 

_“Goodbye, Drorì.”_

 

* * *

 

“We’re at the beach!”

 

“Gimli, we have eyes, you don’t have to shout it.”

  
Gimli pressed his nose to the window of their family car as he stared in wonder at the waves crashing on the sand and the sun glinting off the water. Beside him, Idris tried to act as if she wasn’t excited, but she was, even if she would have rather gone to a mountain resort for their vacation.

 

Their dad parked the car and their mum got out; Gimli unbuckled his seatbelt as his mother opened their door. Gimli ducked under her arm and ran to the wooden fence that marked the edge of the parking lot and the boardwalk down to the beach.

 

A gull landed on the fence beside him, then let out a horrid screech. Gulls. He loved the beach, but the gulls were the bane of his existence, always calling and crying and singing of the sea. Gimli wrinkled his nose at it, then grabbed a rock from the ground and made to throw it.

 

“Gimli, don’t do that, it’s not hurting you!” his mother caught his hand before he could, and Gimli reluctantly dropped the rock.

 

“I don’t like gulls,” Gimli said.

 

“Why not?” Idris asked. “They’re pretty.”

 

“No, they’re not, they’re mean and they say mean things!”

 

“How do they say mean things?” his mother asked in a laugh.

 

Gimli stopped, then frowned. He looked back at the gull, tilting his head to one side as he stared. It hopped along the fence, then screeched again. He glared at it. It was mocking him.

 

“They take things,” Gimli said, and he half wanted to pick up his rock again. “They take things without asking and they make you want to see the sea.”

 

“Why’s that a bad thing?” Idris asked. She was frowning at him now. Their parents had moved away, unloading chairs and a cooler from the car, but Idris had joined him near the fence. “You love the sea.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Gimli trailed off. “I don’t know. I’ve always hated gulls.”

 

“Because they take things?” Idris said. “And they make you want to see the ocean?”

 

“No, they want you to go to the sea, and then they take you.”

 

Idris gaped at him. “You’re weird,” she said, and turned away.

 

Gimli still glared at the gull. It cocked its head at him, then let out one last cry, and took off. Gimli didn’t care that Idris thought him weird. The gulls took things. They were mean.

 

“Gimli! Come on!”

 

He turned away and ran to follow his family to the beach. He began to hum under his breath, something he’d just remembered, oddly, that the gull had reminded him of.

 

“To the sea, to the sea,” he murmured, “the white gulls are crying.”

 

“What’s that?” Idris asked him. “First you hate gulls, now you’re singing about them?”

 

“I don’t know,” Gimli answered. “I think it’s a lullaby.”

 

“Where’d you hear it?”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

“You’re really weird,” Idris said again and ran off before their mother could lather more sunscreen on her.

 

“Gimli, come here, I need to put sunscreen on you!”

 

Gimli obeyed, humming he went. “The wind is blowing, the white foam is flying.”

 

As his mother rubbed him down with sunscreen, Gimli stared at the sea and suddenly felt sad. “West, west away,” he murmured. The gulls took things, he remembered that much.

 

“You remember that one, do you?” his mother whispered.

 

“Hmm?” he said. “Remember what?”

 

“West away, the round sun is falling,” his mother sang in a whisper. “I think your uncle made it up. He loved that song.”

 

“Which uncle?”

 

“My brother,” she said, and her smile was suddenly sad too. “When you were born, he had just died, so I sang it in my grief. I didn’t think you’d remember it.”

 

“I didn’t know that’s where I heard it,” Gimli said. He wasn’t sure it was.

 

“You were very young,” she said. “Run along now, go have your fun. Let that dry before you get in the water, though!”

 

“Yes, mum!”

 

He made a sandcastle and decided he’d name it Aman, remembering Julia the Hobbit’s story book from when he was a lot younger. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t. Gimli continued to hum under his breath and glare at the gulls.

 

* * *

 

_“Ygdris, where have you done with yourself?”_

 

_“Gimli? Ah, Gimli, my old Master! I have aged, fool!”_

 

_“You look like you’ve woken up at the bottom of an ale barrel every day for the past ten years!”_

 

_“You look like you set your beard on fire and decided to leave it that way!”_

 

_“You look like someone took a hammer to your head, and that’s an improvement!”_

 

_“You look like you dressed in the dark!”_

 

_“You look like your mother dressed you!”_

 

_“Ha! My husband dressed me, so you’re almost right!”_

 

_“Your husband’s a fool then, you ought to be dressed in more vibrant colors than brown!”_

 

_“My husband’s a tailor and I’m a tavern owner, not everyone gets to be General of the Armies of Aglarond, my friend.”_

 

_“Well, you deserve to be dressed in Durin blues, I owe you my life.”_

 

_“And for that, you’ll owe me for that beer. Tell me, have you married yet?”_

 

_“I have not.”_

 

_“Still looking for him?”_

 

_“Aye. I appreciate your quiet tones, Ygdris.”_

 

_“It’s alright. I understand. Now, cheer up, Master! Let me get you another beer.”_

 

_“No, no, I fear if I stay much longer, I’ll end up drinking you dry. I’ll have to go back soon.”_

 

_“Ah, yes, your uncle will want you fresh faced for the talks with the men from Gondor tomorrow. But, just one more, sing us a song of your life, friend!”_

 

_“I know no songs worthy of your honorable tavern hall!”_

 

_“Then sing one unworthy! I would have it known that Gimli, son of Lord Rama, General to the Lord of the Glittering Caves Rama, son of Gamlis, daughter of Hama, sang in my tavern!”_

 

_“Give it a rest, Ygdris.”_

 

_“Sing even that sad song you made up!”_

 

_“I… I never made that song up.”_

 

_“Well, whoever made it up, you love it. Sing!”_

 

_“Alright, alright. Give me a mo’. Ahem! Ach-hem!”_

 

_“Sing!”_

 

_“To the sea, to the sea…”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli stared out the window, thoroughly bored. His teacher droned on; the history of the Dwarves during the Third Age did not interest him.

 

“This will be on the quiz on Friday, this is important! The War of the Ring shaped the Fourth Age…”

 

Gimli exhaled forcefully and dropped his head onto his notebook. Everyone knew about the War of the Ring, as much information as was left to them.

 

“Some of the party of Frodo Baggins have been forgotten to time, at least four, but King Aragorn II and Lord Gimli Glóinul were among them…”

 

Gimli scratched at his peach fuzz. He was sure that Dwarves in the Third Age did not have to listen to lectures about everything that happened from the dawn of time.

 

“Exactly who the enemy in the War of the Ring was, has also been forgotten, though our best guess is that it was some sort of tyrant in the East.”

 

Gimli let out a sudden snort at the idea that Sauron was just another tyrant, and the teacher paused. She raised a thick eyebrow at him and Gimli felt himself color.

 

“Yes, Gimli Talanul?” the teacher asked. “Did you have something to add?”

 

Gimli opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t know why I laughed.”

 

The teacher pursed her lips for a moment, then eventually resumed her lecture. Gimli shrank a little in his chair and looked at his notebook, trying not to attract more attention. Who was Sauron, anyway?

 

* * *

 

_“Have you ever had a really intense feeling of deja vu?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“I think I’m having one right now. Are you?”_

 

_“Yes?”_

 

_“Excellent, I’m not alone. My name is Leora, it means light. I’m a seamstress by trade, but I dabble in fortune telling.”_

 

_“My name is Gimli, it means star. I am a politician but I would rather be a warrior, though I think you knew that before you came to see me.”_

 

_“Yes, I did. Tell me, Master Gimli, what do you know of Elves?”_

 

_“I beg your pardon?”_

 

_“Elves, Master Gimli. I am searching for any information on them.”_

 

_“I thought you were a seamstress?”_

 

_“I am, but I also am seeking out my own history.”_

 

_“And what does that have to do with Elves?”_

 

_“Do you believe in reincarnation?”_

 

_“Men and Hobbits say it is real, but it is not a gift given to Dwarves.”_

 

_“Hmm, perhaps. They say that once, Elves and Men would fall in love, and their children were called Half-Elven. These were given the Gift of Men if they so wished, and were allowed to return to the mortal world.”_

 

_“I do not know many who believe in Elves, Madam Leora.”_

 

_“Ah, but you see, I am a woman who believes in reincarnation! I believe that I once walked this earth as one of the Half-Elven, and I would see that the truth of Elves was shared with the world once more! I know that the Dwarves of Aglarond once had many dealings with Elves in Ithilien before it was overtaken by men, before the Elves sailed to Aman, and I know that you have proof still that Elves were once real!”_

 

_“Madam Leora, I cannot give you what you seek. Our records from before the Fourth Age and even some from the Fourth Age have been lost to age.”_

 

_“But… Surely you must have some left?”_

 

_“No. We have worked hard to salvage what remains, but barely one shelf’s worth of records from the Fourth Age remains, and nothing from before then.”_

 

_“Well… Aglarond was only founded at the end of the Third Age.”_

 

_“Yes, it was. I should think you should look in Ithilien or in Gondor, they might have what you seek.”_

 

_“Thank you, Master Gimli.”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli sneezed, then rubbed at his nose in irritation. Summer was nearly upon them, sure, but first came the onset of pollen with spring. He followed his father through the fields, sneezing almost every five minutes, but he had been assured the walk would soon be over.

 

“Gimli! Here, come look at this.”

 

Gimli picked up his speed to catch up with his father, who was standing in the shadow of a tall oak tree. He slowed, then sneezed.

 

“Ha, I told you you should take your medication this morning,” his father said smugly. “Do you see that I do know some things now?”

 

“Yeah,” Gimli sniffled, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. His father dropped onto the ground and patted the grass next to him. Gimli sat down, still rubbing his nose.

 

“Look at this,” his father said, pointing to something carved into the tree’s trunk. Gimli leaned in and saw that the carving was a heart with initials in it.

 

“S + T,” he read. Then he felt his face color. “Sigrid and Talan?” he guessed.

 

“Yep!” his father said, grinning. “Son, it’s time you learned about something.”

 

“Oh, no,” Gimli murmured.

 

“Where dwarflings come from.”

 

“Oh, no,” he repeated.

 

“It takes two people, there’s got to be a mum and there’s got to be a dad.”

 

“Oh, no,” Gimli groaned.

 

His father only laughed. “I had the exact reaction when I was your age, but in time, you’ll find it’s not so bad.”

 

* * *

 

_“Amad, please, do not cry.”_

 

_“But you’ve gone and grown up! How could I not cry? Oh, my wee lad has earned his mastery! What would your grandfather say, what would your great uncle?”_

 

_“Amad…”_

 

_“No, no, I’ll cry if I want to! I’m proud of you, inùdoy.”_

 

_“Thank you, Amad.”_

 

_“Ah, if only I knew when you were born that you would become a seer! My Gimli, my wee little star, a master seer! It suits you, one of perfect sight.”_

 

_“It does, doesn’t it? Thank you. Again, thank you, I would have never gotten this far if it weren’t for you.”_

 

_“Oh, shh, before I start crying again.”_

 

_“Cry if you want to, Amad. They’re tears of joy, after all.”_

 

_“Ah, Gimli! Come here, let me hold you.”_

 

_“Thank you, Amad.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, my little boy,” his mother sniffed, beaming at him. “All grown up!”

 

“Mum, I’m only going to school,” Gimli said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to Mars.”

 

“Still,” his mother said, then pulled him into the third fierce hug of the day. “My little boy…! Soon, you’ll be getting married and having little ones of your own! I’ll be a grandmother!”

 

“You already are going to be a grandmother,” Gimli assured her even as a twinge of guilt struck him. He didn’t think he would ever give her grandchildren. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get married at all. “Idris is bound to give birth any day now, she’s already the size of a whale.”

 

Idris cuffed him over the back of the head and scowled as he yelped. “I’m having twins, you fool!”

 

“Don’t tease your sister, Gimli,” his mother said. “She’s lovely!”

 

“Oh, yes, indeed, doesn’t change the fact that she looks like she’s swallowed a whole watermelon, and a prize one at that!”

 

“Gimli!”

 

“I’ll get you for that!” Idris declared, lunging for him. Gimli laughed and dodged her snatching hands, ducking around his mother and hiding behind her skirts.

 

“Enough of that!” his mother said as she caught Idris around the waist and stayed her grabbing hands.

 

“One of these days you’re going to need me and then you’ll be sorry you ever called me a whale,” Idris declared to Gimli, her nose stuck up in the air.

 

“One of these days you’re going to wake up and no longer be the size of one, so what does it matter?” Gimli asked with a grin.

 

“You!” she shouted, but she didn’t lunge for him again. She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes, then grabbed him into a hug. “I’m going to miss your teasing, little brother.”

 

“I’ll miss you too, Idris,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

 

He waved goodbye to them from the train, and managed to hold in his own tears until after they’d passed from view. He’d never felt more alone.

 

 

* * *

_“What’s got you so glum, Gimmers?”_

 

_“Oh, Mahal, don’t call me Gimmers, I’m not a child.”_

 

_“Someone’s irritated. What’s the matter, brother?”_

 

_“You’re getting married.”_

 

_“So? That shouldn’t make you frown like that.”_

 

_“No, I guess not.”_

 

_“So, what is it?”_

 

_“I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”_

 

_“Don’t say that, brother! That’s downright depressing.”_

 

_“No, I’m serious! I’m two hundred and forty years old, and I’ve never found my One.”_

 

_“Hey, I’m a hundred and seventy-six and I only just found mine! Chin up, you’ll find her eventually.”_

 

_“No. I don’t think so.”_

 

_“Gimli, don’t be –”_

 

_“Depressing, I know. I’m just… Have you ever felt an ache, like you’re missing something, but you don’t know what?”_

 

_“Aye, I think so. Before I met Nala.”_

 

_“My heart aches like that, I yearn for something, but I don’t know what or who it is! Brother, I have always felt this, but it gets worse with every passing day.”_

 

_“You’re lonely.”_

 

_“I know.”_

 

_“You’ll find her, some day. Don’t give me that look, you yearn for your One which means that she is out there!”_

 

_“And what if my One is not a she?”_

 

_“Ah. Well, you wouldn’t be the first.”_

 

_“And what if I… I don’t know.”_

 

_“Know what?”_

 

_“Nothing. Never mind. Come, we have a wedding to plan!”_

 

_“Brother –”_

 

_“No, I have lived with my loneliness this long, I will not let it dampen your happiness. Let it go.”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli propped his chin on his palm and smiled at the chaos around him. Christmas was his favorite time of year, and the gathering of family for Christmas eve made it even better. Idris was sitting with her husband and her newborn twins not far away, his mother flitting around them and cooing at her grandsons. His aged grandmother, a Dwarrowdam of nearly four hundred and twenty, was by the fire singing to herself as she knitted more booties for the little ones. His cousins chatted and his cousin’s children ran around while one of his father’s younger brothers tried to tell them about Santa.

 

“Gimli, could you pick that up for me?”

 

His grandmother, Hagar, was pointing to a dropped ball of yarn that had rolled between his feet. Gimli bent and picked it up, then rolled it between his fingers as he walked it back to his grandmother. She took it, her thin fingers shaky, and tucked it in her lap once more. Then she raised a hand and touched his face, and she was smiling.

 

“You look just like your uncle,” she murmured. “He would braid his beard just like that when he was your age.”

 

“People keep telling me that,” Gimli said.

 

His grandmother gave a smile and lowered her hand.

 

“It’s not so bad, the missing,” she said, “when you’ve got someone else to make you smile.”

 

“Is it?” Gimli asked. He lowered himself to the floor by her feet, looking up at her.

 

“It is,” she said, “especially when you’re so much like him.”

 

“People keep telling me that, too,” Gimli said with a laugh. He settled himself to put his back to the fire and looked out at the crowd of family filling the room. His mother was now holding one of Idris’s sons and she was singing to him, a quiet lullaby.

 

“Well, have you got anyone to make you smile, boy?”

 

“Say again?” Gimli asked, looking back up at his grandmother.

 

“A girl, or a guy, whichever.”

 

Gimli suddenly colored. “Oh. Uh, no.”

 

His grandmother gave a snort and patted his shoulder. “You’ll find your One one day, child.”

 

Gimli nodded, looking away. His mother had moved away from Idris with the infant, who was whimpering at the noise. He could hear her singing, and suddenly he didn’t feel quite so happy anymore. It was a quiet ache, normally, but at that moment, he felt it more strongly than ever.

 

“Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling?” his mother sang softly.

 

* * *

 

_“You’ve gotten old, Uncle.”_

 

_“That tends to happen when you age.”_

 

_“Ha! You’ll always be the tough and strong Dwarrow you were a hundred years ago in my memory, Uncle Gimli.”_

 

_“Thank you, Dane. Will you name your next son after me?”_

 

_“Still no.”_

 

_“Worth a try.”_

 

_“Do you need help, Uncle?”_

 

_“No, I can still make tea on my own. I may be over three hundred, but I am not dead yet.”_

 

_“You’ll be three hundred and fifteen soon.”_

 

_“Yes, but I’m not dead yet.”_

 

_“You just said that.”_

 

_“Did I?”_

 

_“You did, Uncle.”_

 

_“Oh. Oh well, everyone fades a bit with the years. Remember me in my prime when I’m gone, will you?”_

 

_“Yes, I will, I said I would.”_

 

_“You did? You’ll have to forgive me, my memory’s not the best.”_

 

_“I know, Uncle… His memory’s gotten worse…”_

 

_“What was that?”_

 

_“Nothing, Uncle.”_

 

_“Eh, fine. How’s your wife? Your little one born yet?”_

 

_“No, he’s not due for a while longer.”_

 

_“How do you know it’s a boy?”_

 

_“We had an ultrasound, Uncle.”_

 

_“What’s that? No, no, don’t tell me, I’ve grown tired of all this technology.”_

 

_“You’ve said – Uncle! Uncle are you alright!”_

 

_“Ah! It – It’s nothing, been happening all day.”_

 

_“What has, Uncle?”_

 

 _“Pain, in my chest. Ah!”_ _  
_

 

_“Uncle?! Uncle, I need you to look at me. How long have you been having these pains?”_

 

_“All day, I told you. Ah! Ah, it’s gone. Oh!”_

 

_“Uncle! Are you alright, did you break anything?”_

 

 _“I’m not fragile, I’m three hundred and fourteen, my bones aren’t going to break because I fell over!”_ _  
_

 

_“I should call a doctor –”_

 

_“No, no, I’ll be fine, let me just get up.”_

 

_“Uncle, chest pain can be serious at your age –”_

 

_“It’s not that bad, just… help me…”_

 

_“Uncle?”_

 

_“What was I saying? Where am I? Where’s Legolas?”_

 

_“Legolas? Who’s Legolas?”_

 

_“I – I don’t know…”_

 

_“I’m going to call a doctor, Uncle, I don’t like this.”_

 

_“No, no, just, help me get up, I was making tea, wasn’t I? Why am I on the ground?”_

 

_“Yes, you – you were, but you collapsed. You said you felt chest pain.”_

 

_“I’m always feeling pain somewhere, I’m three hundred and fourteen.”_

 

_“Chest pain, though, Uncle, that’s serious!”_

 

_“And so is tea! Legolas will want his tea, it’s nearly sunset.”_

 

_“Who is Legolas? Uncle, no, don’t get up, you should rest.”_

 

_“I don’t need to rest, I need to make tea. There. Where’s my cane?”_

 

_“Here, but I really think you should just sit down.”_

 

_“No, I – Ah! Oh, no, no, it’s too soon!”_

 

_“Uncle? Uncle, what’s wrong?”_

 

_“I – My heart…”_

 

_“Uncle?!”_

 

_“Help me, help me to my chair.”_

 

_“Uncle, what’s wrong, here, sit, what’s happening?”_

 

_“I’m dying, can’t you tell?”_

 

_“What? No, no, you can’t die, you’re – you’re not that old!”_

 

 _“I always die at this age, when a young one is near birth, it’s time!”_ _  
_

 

_“What? What do you mean?”_

 

_“I can start over soon. Yes, I’ll find him next time.”_

 

_“Uncle? What are you talking about?”_

 

_“Next time… To the sea, to the sea, the white gulls… Next time.”_

 

_“Uncle?”_

 

_“Dane! Quick, it’s your wife! She’s gone into labor early!”_

 

_“What?”_

 

_“The white gulls are crying…”_

 

_“Quick, come!”_

 

_“I’ll be back, Uncle, just stay there!”_

 

_“I’ll find you next time, Ghivashelê, Legolas, I will do better, next time… There, there are the gulls…”_

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever had this really intense feeling of deja vu?”

 

Gimli raised his eyebrows. The woman in front of him, standing so close her nose was almost touching his, raised hers, her large, luminous eyes, never blinking. It was rather unsettling.

 

“Yes,” he said slowly. The woman straightened up and narrowed her eyes at him, then stuck out her hand.

 

“My name is Estelle,” she said. “It means star.”

 

“My name is Gimli,” he said, taking hers. “I don’t know what it means.”

 

“I knew you once,” Estelle said. “In another life.”

 

Gimli blinked. “Erm, sorry?”

 

“In another life,” she said as if it should be obvious. It wasn’t. “I have a very old soul.”

 

“Good for you?” Gimli tried. “But I thought dwarves didn’t get reincarnated?”

 

“Bah!” she said, waving a hand. “Who’s to say we’re not all Elves and we just don’t know it?”

 

“Okay….” Gimli muttered.

 

His roommate stuck out his hand. “My name’s Ryker,” he said, his tone soft. Gimli did a double take and nearly gaped at the sappy expression on his friend’s face. “It means kingly.”

 

“I knew you in another life, too,” Estelle said. “We’re going to be great friends.”

 

“Really?” Ryker said with a half smile. Gimli let his head fall back and stared up at the open sky with half contained groans. What made humans become infatuated with people they’d only just met would always be a mystery to him. The bustle of the Fresher’s Fair around them didn’t slow, even as Ryker and Estelle gazed into each other’s eyes and exchanged meaningless pleasantries. Gimli half wanted to hide away in the crowd.

 

* * *

 

_“I do not love you, Anïs.”_

 

_“But I love you! Gimli, please, I have only ever loved you!”_

 

_“That is not true, Anïs, I know it is not! I am not your One.”_

 

_“I feel in my heart that you are.”_

 

 _“I cannot be. You are not_ my _One.”_

 

_“But… I love you.”_

 

_“I’m sorry.”_

 

_“Who is she?”_

 

_“He.”_

 

_“Mahal, that makes it worse.”_

 

 _“I am sorry that I do not love you, Anïs, but you cannot be angry with me over it!”_ _  
_

 

 _“Can’t I? You have broken my heart!”_ _  
_

 

_“And you said that when Ronan married Ingrid. Anïs, you have a flighty heart, you will find your next One in a week!”_

 

_“How dare you!”_

 

_“I deserved that.”_

 

_“You did, though my hand stings now.”_

 

_“I am sorry.”_

 

_“Who is he, then?”_

 

_“I… I don’t know. I haven’t found him.”_

 

_“Then how –”_

 

_“Because I just know, Anïs, just like I know that I loved my mother when I knew her and that you loved yours!”_

 

_“Your mother died at your birth.”_

 

_“I know that, you don’t need to rub it in my face.”_

 

_“Then… who is he? What do you know?”_

 

_“I… I know that he is fair, and that he loves me as well.”_

 

_“Where is he?”_

 

_“I don’t know.”_

 

_“Gimli, I – I am sorry.”_

 

_“It is not your fault, I don’t blame your heart or mine.”_

 

_“I blame yours.”_

 

_“Do so. It matters not.”_

 

_“I guess you’ll find him one day. You’re young.”_

 

_“So are you.”_

 

_“Yes. Who knows, maybe I know my One and I just haven’t realized it. Maybe my One is a girl and I have been looking for men.”_

 

_“I wouldn’t put it past you, friend.”_

 

_“Goodbye, Gimli.”_

 

_“Goodbye, Anïs. May your One find you soon.”_

 

_“May your One find you sooner. It hurts my heart to see you grieving something you never had.”_

 

* * *

 

“Hey, do you think I should ask Estelle to marry me?”

 

Gimli paused. Ryker sounded completely serious and not at all drunk. Gimli checked his watch, but it wasn’t even midnight. Ryker couldn’t be drunk yet. He eyed his friend suspiciously.

 

“How many beers have you had?”

 

“I’m serious!” Ryker gave a laugh and leaned on the bar. “I think I’m in love with her. I think I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

 

“Wait, what’s the proof on this stuff?” Gimli asked, snatching Ryker’s beer from him.

 

“I’m not drunk! I love Estelle.”

 

“You’ve been dating barely a year.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t love her.”

 

“It’s only five percent, that’s normal. How many have you had?”

 

“Seriously, I’m not drunk.”

 

Gimli eyed Ryker with the same level of suspicious. He held up a finger and stuck it very close to Ryker’s face; his friend went cross-eyed quickly, and Gimli moved his finger to the left, and then to the right. His friend’s eyes tracked it with ease. Gimli dropped his finger, because he had no clue how to test for drunkenness other than slurring, lack of coordination, and crazy talk. At the moment, Ryker had one out of three.

 

“Not drunk,” Ryker said.

 

“Can you walk a straight line?” Gimli asked.

 

“Mate, I’m not drunk,” Ryker repeated. “I love Estelle.”

 

“In my experience, beer and emotions don’t mix.”

 

Ryker laughed and threw an arm around Gimli’s shoulders. “I am in love!” he shouted.

 

“Here, here!” shouted half the bar.

 

Gimli squirmed out from under Ryker’s arm and gulped down some of his own beer. He hit the empty bottle against the bar with a little more force than he’d intended and belched.

 

“Maybe you’re the one who’s drunk,” Ryker suggested.

 

“Mate, I’m a dwarf, this is Mannish beer. Three of this is half a pint compared to the ale my uncle makes in his basement.”

 

“Curse your high alcohol tolerance,” Ryker said, shaking his fist.

 

“Curse your low one,” Gimli snorted, then he went quiet and looked at his friend with a more serious eye. “You sure? You’re in love?”

 

“I’m in love,” Ryker said dreamily. “Hey, I should call her.”

 

“Nooo, bad idea. You have drunk at least two beers, you are past the limit of calling or texting people.”

 

“No, but I want to tell Estelle I love her!”

 

“Nope, in the morning, mate.”

 

Ryker scowled. “You suck sometimes,” he grumbled and gulped from his beer. Maybe it was his fourth.

 

“I am your friend,” Gimli assured him. “I’m looking out for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Ryker muttered. “Hey, when am I gonna get to look out for you?”

 

“When we leave and I try to cross the highway with my eyes shut.”

 

“No, I mean, when am I gonna get to stop you from drunk dialing people to tell them you love them?”

 

Gimli dropped his chin onto his chest. “I need another beer,” he muttered. “When I get drunk, Ryker.”

 

“Okay, but when are you going to have someone to drunk dial and say you love them?”

 

“Can I get another beer?” Gimli called. “Cheers, mate!”

 

“Gimli, mate, c’mon, stop avoiding the question.”

 

“I don’t know, Ryker,” Gimli admitted.

 

“What about… that guy?”

 

“What guy?” Gimli asked, frowning.

 

“The guy,” Ryker said, as if it were obvious. “Um… I’m trying to remember what his name is.”

 

Gimli’s frown deepened and he looked away; he took the beer the bartender had set in front of him and shoved the lime down into the liquid, then took a gulp. This was his fifth, so Ryker had to have had at least three.

 

“It was, like, ages ago, I think. Come to think about it, did I know you when I knew him? Yeah, I did, you guys were terrible.”

 

“Terrible?” Gimli repeated. “Who are you talking about?”

 

“The guy!” Ryker sighed. “I dunno what his name was, but I could swear you two made out like a dozen times. Did we go camping with anyone?”

 

“I’ve never been camping with you,” Gimli assured him.

 

“Huh,” Ryker said. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else.”

 

“Probably,” Gimli said. He gulped from his beer again. “What was his name?”

 

“I dunno. Did you know?”

 

“No.”

 

“Dunno.”

 

They fell silent. Or rather, Gimli fell silent – Ryker fell forward onto the bar and began snoring.

 

“Men,” Gimli grumbled.

 

* * *

 

_“This is unacceptable, Gimli!”_

 

_“Why? Just because I’m your son doesn’t mean I have to marry anyone. You have another son, he has sons, why do I have to be your heir, why do I have to have heirs?”_

 

_“Because you are my firstborn, Gimli! You are next in line!”_

 

_“For what? Father, we have not been Lords of Aglarond in generations!”_

 

_“But we are still close! If Tenil does not have children before –”_

 

_“I will not marry someone I do not love, Father.”_

 

_“I wouldn’t – Gah, my son I am not asking you to marry someone you dislike, but to try to find someone!”_

 

_“I have tried! Do you think I enjoy being lonely? Do you think I like this gap in my heart where my One should be? Do you think I am not trying?”_

 

_“Gimli…”_

 

_“No! No, you don’t get to ‘Gimli’ me, I’m not a child, and I am not your leverage.”_

 

_“I… I am sorry.”_

 

_“You should be.”_

 

_“Don’t get indignant, I am trying to apologize!”_

 

_“You should be sorry! You have been pestering me about this for nearly a hundred years!”_

 

_“Well, you are not getting any younger, son!”_

 

_“And I have not found the one I love!”_

 

_“How do you know that you have only one, eh? How do you not know that you could love someone else, like –”_

 

_“See, this is what you do, you say you’re sorry and that you’ll let it go but you bring it back up a month later! I know that I could not love anyone but him, because I have loved him for my whole life!”_

 

 _“You’ve never met him! You say_ he _is your One, but you don’t even know_ who _he is!”_

 

_“But I know he is out there!”_

 

_“Fine! Have it your way, die alone and unloved! I give up.”_

 

_“Fine.”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli tossed a rubber ball; it hit the wall and bounced back. He caught it in his other hand. He threw it again, it hit the wall, he caught it, and he threw it again.

 

“I would think you’d get bored of that eventually.”

 

Gimli sat up, dropping the ball onto the cushion beside him. “Mum, I did not hear you come in.”

 

His mother set down her satchel and neared the bench where he sat. “How’s school?” she asked.

 

“Going well,” he answered. “My roommate thinks he’s fallen in love.”

 

“Thinks?” she said. “Isn’t that for him to decide?”

 

Gimli shrugged. “I guess. He only met her last year.”

 

“Is she a nice girl?”

 

“Yeah, I like her. She’s a little strange, but she’s cool.”

 

“How is she strange?”

 

His mother took his hand between one of hers and began to massage his palm. He felt his shoulders relaxing almost immediately.

 

“She believes in reincarnation,” he said. “And she keeps trying to read my palm.”

 

His mother laughed and flipped over his hand to stare intently at his palm. “Your palm says you need to buy milk,” she said.

 

Gimli snorted and tugged his hand from her. “True,” he said, glancing at the grocery list on his palm.

 

“Is she good for your friend?” his mother asked.

 

Gimli thought about it. “I think so,” he said. “She says that she knew us both in another life, at least.”

 

“Oh, so you’re reincarnated as well?” his mother asked with a laugh. “I thought that reincarnation was the Gift of Men?”

 

“I thought that too, but she swears I have an old soul.”

 

His mother smiled and reached up to tuck a braid behind his ear. “Perhaps you do,” she said with a smile.

 

* * *

 

_“Cousin Gimli! Here, come and taste this!”_

 

_“Sure. Gah! It’s strong.”_

 

_“Of course it is! It’s my father’s own recipe, honey mead!”_

 

_“I think I am much too old to be drinking your father’s mead, Cousin.”_

 

_“Ha! How old are you now?”_

 

_“I am nearly three hundred and fourteen.”_

 

_“Three hundred and fourteen! I forgot you were younger than me by that little.”_

 

_“Yes, I do look much younger.”_

 

_“Not a day older than two hundred and sixty! I’d ask you your secret, but you’d just lie to me again.”_

 

_“Oh, shush. How are your grandchildren?”_

 

_“My oldest is about to make me a great-grandfather! You’d best be around to witness it, Gimli son of Felrar!”_

 

_“I will do my very best, but I cannot guarantee it.”_

 

_“If I can live to three hundred and twenty, so can you, cousin. It’s a shame you never had children, though, let alone grandchildren.”_

 

_“I never found the one I would want to have them with, cousin.”_

 

_“It’s still a shame. Still, have another of this, then I have a home video to show you, my daughter’s youngest just graduated.”_

 

_“Congratulations to her then! What did she graduate from? College?”_

 

_“Primary school, fool! I’m not that old!”_

 

_“Ah, yes, she’s, what, sixty?”_

 

_“Eh? My daughter or my granddaughter?”_

 

_“Your granddaughter, clearly.”_

 

_“Oh! Fifty-eight. Skipped a year.”_

 

_“Good for her.”_

 

_“Here, drink this, and then we can go.”_

 

_“Go where?”_

 

_“To see that video!”_

 

_“Oh, right! Gah, this is strong!”_

 

* * *

 

“How’s your first year at uni gone, then, Gimli?” Zoaz asked around his mouthful of food. Idris hit him on the side and he swallowed hastily. “Sorry.”

 

“Good, so far,” Gimli answered. “Men are strange.”

 

“Ha! That they are. I found during my time at that school that the most fun to be had was at the engineering fraternities, however.

 

“Really?” Gimli asked. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

 

“Yes, they turn Dungeon’s and Dragons into a drinking game and poof, everyone’s an elf unless they’re a dragon and some people are both!”

 

“Da, what’s an elf?” Wee Talan asked.

 

“It’s like a unicorn,” Zoaz said, “but with two legs and no horn.”

 

“Then how’s it a unicorn?” Little Gimzi said with a curious tilt of his eyebrows.

 

“Uh…” Zoaz said. “Idris?”

 

“It’s like a unicorn in that it’s not real,” Gimli’s sister answered. “Eat your carrots, Wee Talan, I see you trying to give them to the dog.”

 

Wee Talan hastily shoved the fistful of carrots in his little hand into his mouth.

 

“Unicorns aren’t real?” Little Gimzi said. They all went quiet. Gimli glanced between Idris and Zoaz, who were both looking at each other. Zoaz swallowed audibly and looked at his son.

 

“Unicorns are real, lad,” he said.

 

“So are Elves real?” Wee Talan asked excitedly.

 

“Sure,” Zoaz said.

 

“How come I’ve never met one?” Wee Talan said.

 

“They, uh, well, because they live very far away.”

 

“On the Lost Isle of Aman,” Gimli added. “With the unicorns.”

 

“Can we go there for Christmas?” Little Gimzi said in a gasp.

 

“No,” Zoaz said, “because it’s the _Lost_ Isle of Aman, lad. If we knew where it was, it wouldn’t be lost!”

 

“So it’s like your necklace?” Little Gimzi said. “The one Mumma gave you?”

 

Idris looked at Zoaz, who was suddenly very pale. Gimli covered his mouth with a hand and tried to cough instead of laugh, but Idris shot him a look. Gimli leaned closer to Little Gimzi’s high-chair.

 

“I think your dadda would’ve rathered you hadn’t mentioned that, lad,” Gimli said in a loud whisper.

 

“Oops?” Little Gimzi said. Idris hit Gimli on the shoulder as he laughed and Zoaz tried at least to look sheepish.

 

* * *

 

_“Long are the waves, on the last shore falling…”_

 

_“You should try and record that song. It’s beautiful.”_

 

_“Oh! I didn’t realize you were back already.”_

 

_“It’s alright, you may sing your strange lullaby to my son, Gimli. Bain thinks of you as his brother, so that makes you mine.”_

 

_“Heh, if only it were so easy. My own brothers are trying to get me to marry, you know. Bain never bothers me about such things. I’d much rather be Bain’s brother than theirs.”_

 

_“Family is complicated, isn’t it? You were singing, though, Jana was enjoying it. Please, keep singing.”_

 

_“Long are the waves, on the last shore falling. Sweet are the voices, in the lost isle calling. In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover, where the leaves fall not, land of my people forever.”_

 

 _“What is Eressëa?”_ _  
_

 

_“I’ve never known.”_

 

_“Never? But surely you asked when you heard that lullaby?”_

 

_“No. I don’t remember where I heard it, I’ve just always remembered it.”_

 

_“Strange. Perhaps Jana will too, now that you’ve sung it to him as a baby.”_

 

_“Perhaps.”_

 

* * *

 

“Avast! I shall cut off your head, o evil dragon!”

 

“No! I shall not be defeated by such a small dwarfling!”

 

Wee Talan scrambled onto Gimli’s back and gave his head a sharp thwack with his foam sword. Gimli winced and dropped from his hands to his elbows, making Wee Talan shake and nearly fall off his back.

 

“Ah! No! I have been defeated by such a small dwarfling!”

 

“I am King of Aglarond, evil dragon!” Wee Talan proclaimed

 

“I thought I was King of Aglarond,” whined Little Gimzi.

 

“Nuh-uh, I killed the dragon! Besides, I’m older!”

 

“By about a minute!” Little Gimzi shouted.

 

“I’m still older!”

 

“But I want to be the King!”

 

“Alright, alright, if you’re going to fight, then I’m going to be the King,” Gimli declared.

 

“But you’re the dragon!” Wee Talan protested. “And I just cut off your head, so shh!”

 

“Well, then,” Gimli muttered. He sat up, making Wee Talan squeal as he tumbled off his back and sat back on his rump. “If I’m dead, then you’ll have to go find another dragon to fight.”

 

“Dad!” Little Gimzi shouted.

 

“Dad! You’re the new dragon!” Wee Talan screamed, and the Twin Terrors ran off in search of their father.

 

“You’re getting great with them.”

 

Gimli looked over his shoulder and smiled at Idris. He got off the floor and walked over to her, bending to kiss her swollen belly.

 

“This one’s going to be a girl,” he said.

 

“Is it?” Idris laughed. “Well, I’ll be glad of that, I can hardly handle Wee Talan and Little Gimzi sometimes.”

 

“Been thinking of names?” Gimli asked her, straightening his back.

 

“Mmm, if it’s a girl, Zoaz wants to name her after his mother, but I’m thinking of naming her after Gramma.”

 

Gimli nodded. “She’d like that.”

 

Idris set her hands over her baby bump, smiling sadly at it. “Gramma would have liked seeing them run around here,” she murmured.

 

“She can see them,” Gimli said. “From heaven.”

 

Idris snorted but she nodded. “If it’s another boy, I’m thinking something unique. Something not-Dwarvish.”

 

“Ah, are you back to your rebellious phase?” Gimli asked, making Idris roll her eyes. “What about Harry, then?”

 

“There’s a million Harrys,” Idris sniffed. “I said unique.”

 

“Albus, then?”

 

“No, nothing from the Harry Potter books.”

 

“Then I have nothing for you,” Gimli said.

 

“Wait, what about that fellow you were always talking about when you were little?” Idris said. “What was his name?”

 

Gimli frowned. “What fellow?”

 

“I don’t know, you said he was _Ghivashelê_ a lot but that wasn’t his name, you never said what _Ghivashelê_ meant.”

 

Gimli opened his mouth and hesitated. “I – I haven’t really thought about that in a long time,” he said.

 

Idris raised her eyebrows. “Really? You were practically in love with him when we were kids.”

 

“Well, I’m not a kid anymore, I’m 103, Idris.”

 

“Still. It’s strange that you don’t remember his name.”

 

“No,” Gimli murmured. “No, I never knew his name.”

 

“Never?” Idris said. “Weird.”

 

“I was always trying to remember it,” Gimli said. “But I never could.”

 

“What were you remembering it from?” Idris asked.

 

“I have no clue,” Gimli said softly.

 

* * *

 

_“Gimli, son of Jana, you come back here right this instant!”_

 

_“I did absolutely nothing!”_

 

_“Don’t you pull that crap with me, I saw you over by my car!”_

 

_“Which car is yours, again?”_

 

_“Gimli! This is serious! Did you let the air out of my tires?”_

 

_“I certainly did not!”_

 

 _“I will tell Father, I will!”_ _  
_

 

_“On what proof, Sigrid daughter of Hagar?”_

 

 _“On the proof that you’re an asshole! Come back here!”_ _  
_

 

_“Ha! I’ll have you know, wee sister-mine, that I was inside the house when your car was sabotaged!”_

 

_“Gimli! I’ll get you for this!”_

 

_“I’m sure of that, but in the meantime, I’ll revel in my victory! I’ve got to go pay young Talan ten dollars, now, bye!”_

 

* * *

 

“Hey, hey, hey!”

 

“I heard you the first seven thousand times,” Gimli grumbled. Ryker dropped onto the couch beside Gimli and made Gimli’s laptop bounce on his lap. “Hey!”

 

“Guess what?” Ryker said.

 

“You’ve learned what it means to be patient,” Gimli snapped. “Or rather, you haven’t.”

 

“My archeology professor is going on a dig this year to uncover the ruins of Ithilien!”

 

“Ithilien?” Gimli repeated. That sounded… familiar, somehow. “What’s that?”

 

“It’s this ancient city, like from the Third or Second age ancient, I forget, and guess who lived there?”

 

“Who?” Gimli asked, playing along.

 

“Sindarin folk!” Ryker whispered.

 

“Sindarin?” Gimli muttered. “Wait, dwarves?”

 

“I don’t know, I think people used to think dwarves spoke Sindarin, but my professor said that they found evidence that it might have been men. But my professor! Is going to be at the find of the age! And! And!”

 

“He’s offering positions for grad students?” Gimli asked.

 

“Yes!” Ryker shouted. “I applied, I don’t know if I’ll get it but think about it! I might be at the find of the age!”

 

“Sindarin,” Gimli muttered. Something from a long time ago, something he hadn't though about in years, was prodding the back of his mind. “Hey, do you know any Sindarin? The language, I mean?”

 

“A bit, duh,” Ryker said. “Why?”

 

“What does _elen_ mean?”

 

Ryker’s grin dropped. “Wait, how do you know Sindarin? You’re a business major.”

 

“I just do. What does it mean?”

 

“Star,” Ryker said. “I think; the Sindarin folk were fond of the stars, but it that might be el _lin_ and not el _en_.”

 

“So, what would _elen nín_ mean?”

 

“My star,” Ryker said. “Hey, how do you know this?”

 

Gimli leaned back on the sofa, staring with a frown at his laptop screensaver. “I heard it in a dream,” he muttered.

 

“A dream?” Ryker repeated.

 

“Don’t tell Estelle,” Gimli said hastily, “she’ll want to read my tea leaves or something.”

 

“No, ‘course not,” Ryker said. “But… that’s weird, man.”

 

“Yeah,” Gimli muttered. “It’s weird.”

 

* * *

 

_“Elen nín, I must ask something of you. I must ask, even though I fear it is too much to ask.”_

 

_“Ask away, Âzyungeluh, you know I will answer.”_

 

_“You know what I ask.”_

 

_“Then you know my answer, surely.”_

 

_“I do not, meleth.”_

 

_“Then ask the question.”_

 

_“Come with me.”_

 

_“Eh?”_

 

_“Come with me to the shores of Aman, come with me to the Undying Lands! My heart, it yearns for the sea, but it needs you even more strongly, meleth nín. I will not go without you.”_

 

 _“Ghivashelê, you know I would not part from you willingly.”_ _  
_

 

_“Then you will come?”_

 

_“I would, but I am a Dwarf! Never has any but an Elf set foot on the shores of Aman, never any but the Ring-bearers, and I never bore the Ring! They would not permit me to stay!”_

 

_“I don’t care, I will not leave without you! You and your silvertongue, you can entrance them six ways from tomorrow and leave them thinking it was their idea! You, who are Elf-friend and Lockbearer, even the Lady Galadriel thought you worthy of the gift denied to kings! Come with me!”_

 

_“Ghivashelê…”_

 

_“Come with me, meleth. My husband, Sansûkhâl… I beg you.”_

 

_“I cannot say no to you, Legolas.”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli awoke, panting, in a deep sweat, swearing he had heard his name. Not his use-name, his sky-name, his _true_ name.

 

But even as he searched the room with his eyes, he saw no figures, no body or person, and he heard nothing but the sound of his own heavy breath.

 

But he remembered. _Legolas._

 

For a second, he sat there, thinking what he should do, then he sprang from the bed and darted to his desk; he switched on a light and dug out the leather bound journal that his father had gifted him when he’d left for university. He grabbed a pen and flipped open to the first page. The name. He had to write it down. It was… What was it? _Âzyungeluh_ , he had heard, whatever that once meant, the word was lost to dwarrows now. He had heard _Ghivashelê_ as well, but he knew that one, he knew who and some of what _Ghivashelê_ meant, but there had been a name! _Ghivashelê_ ’s name, the one he had been trying to remember for over a hundred years; looping and whirling, lyrical, rolling syllables, something that sounded light and fair, like sunlight falling through green branches and leaves. He struck himself on the head, fat load of good poetry would do him if he could not remember –

 

A breath. It came out in one breath.

 

“Legolas,” he whispered.

 

The pen moved. He half did not know what he was writing, but he muttered and murmured, over and over, _Legolas!_

 

The page filled, and Gimli stopped. He dropped the pen and stared at the page, watching the loops and whirls, the way each letter rolled into the next in neat, thin cursive…

 

“Who the fuck is Legolas?” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

_“I will wait for you, meleth. I will wait for you for an age if that is what it takes.”_

 

_“I will come back, fool Elf, don’t worry. They promised.”_

 

_“I know, meleth. I will be here.”_

 

_“Sing for me?”_

 

_“Always, elen nín.”_

 

_“Sing – Sing something that I will remember, Ghivashelê.”_

 

_“To the sea, to the sea, the white gulls are crying…”_

 

* * *

 

“I was a queen in another life!” Estelle declared stubbornly. “An Elven queen, no less!”

 

Gimli rolled his eyes at his friend’s drunken tirade and wondered, not for the first time, why he had chosen to attend the University of Minas Tirith with its multitude of menfolk. He should have followed his father’s advice and gone to a Dwarrow school.

 

“Elves aren’t real,” Ryker assured her, but his girlfriend only grabbed his hand and flattened it so she could peer at his palm, swaying a little in her drunkenness.

 

“And you were a king!” she said, shoving his palm back at him. “Not only were you a king, you were _my_ king, I was your Elven queen, and we ruled over Gondor.”

 

“If you say so,” Ryker told her with a sigh. He met Gimli’s eyes and raised his eyebrows, as if asking for help. Gimli shrugged and leaned back to nurse at his beer. Estelle tore from Ryker’s arms and dropped down in front of Gimli and stared at him.

 

“What?” he said. She stuck out her hand. “No,” he snorted, “you’re not reading my palm.”

 

“I am, too!” she said, and snatched his hand from him. Gimli hiccupped, then went silent as her finger traced his palm. Ryker sat down at the table next to Gimli, looking rather sour. “You, sir,” Estelle said, jabbing a finger into Gimli’s palm, “have a star-crossed lover.”

 

“Have I know?” Gimli asked, raising his eyebrows. “And where do I meet this star-crossed lover?”

 

“You haven’t seen him in ages,” Estelle said. “Not since the first time your soul wandered the earth.”

 

Gimli snorted again. “Even if I believed in reincarnation, which I don’t, it only works for men, if it existed, which it doesn’t.”

 

“I was an Elf, once, doesn’t that prove that it can work for Dwarves?” Estelle swayed again in her seat and Ryker stuck out a hand to steady her before she could topple.

 

“Elves aren’t real either,” Gimli told her.

 

Estelle glared and tugged his hand closer to her, then grabbed an empty glass and held it over his palm like a magnifier. “Ha! Take this, your star-crossed lover’s an elf too!”

 

“Wonderful,” Gimli quipped. “Did we have seventeen children and live in a shoe as well?”

 

“Don’t be dumb, your star-crossed lover’s a guy. Unless you have something to tell us about your gender?”

 

“I’m cis,” Gimli grumbled and Estelle went back to reading his palm. He was becoming unsettled, and squirmed a little in his seat. Estelle tugged on his hand again and pressed the glass closer.

 

“It’s actually been several thousand years since you parted,” she said. “Like, several thousand.”

 

“Is all that written in my palm?” Gimli asked, incredulous at her.

 

“Yep! Now, hold still so I can see when you die.”

 

“I don't want spoilers!”

 

“No, no, silly, when you died the first time, when you left your star-crossed lover!”

 

“Oh.”

 

Estelle made a humming noise in the back of her throat, then let out a loud “Aha!” that made Ryker jump in his seat. “You died of old age. Or maybe a broken heart? No, no, that was all your other lives. Hey, all your other lives died of broken hearts! Aw!”

 

“That’s peachy,” Gimli said, and made to tug his hand back but Estelle held onto ever tighter. “Can I get back to my beer now?”

 

“Nope, not done. I wanna know where your star-crossed lover is so you can go find him! I’d bet he’s rather lonely after all this time, anyone would be after several thousand years!”

 

Gimli looked at Ryker with furrowed and raised brows, but his friend just shrugged.

 

“Did you hear her, she thinks I was once King of Gondor,” Ryker hissed.

 

“You were! Anyway, your lover’s name is something leafy.”

 

Gimli choked on a gulp of beer and Ryker had to thump his back. “Wh–what?”

 

“Leafy,” Estelle repeated, looking up at him with a frown. “And musical. Like, you used to sing it a lot, maybe?”

 

Leafy. Sunlight falling through green branches and leaves. Musical, or perhaps lyrical. He hadn’t thought of that dream in months, hadn’t touched the journal since he packed it away for the move to his dorm hall almost a year ago. Leafy…

 

“You lived on a beach,” Estelle said. “That’s why you like the sea so much.”

 

A sudden thought; _“come with me to the shores of Aman…”_

 

“And you were a peacemaker,” Estelle continued, then set the glass to squint at his palm. “But a warmaker? No, a warrior, that’s different, you were a warrior, but you wanted peace. You’ve certainly lived a lot of lives, Gimli, ooh, but you’ve only ever had one name. That’s funny, isn’t it?”

 

One use-name, or one true-name? Which did she mean? Gimli shook himself; she could not know that true-names even existed, she was human, not dwarrow. No, she was spouting bullshit, as she usually did.

 

“You okay, mate?” Ryker asked him.

 

“Yeah,” Gimli muttered. “Yeah, she’s just weirding me out a bit.”

 

Ryker frowned, but Estelle gasped before he could speak again. “Oh! Oh, this is wonderful, Gimli! Oh, that’s so romantic!”

 

“What?” Gimli demanded, leaning in to peer at his palm as well. “What’s romantic?”

 

“You’ve never been with another person except your leafy lover!” Estelle said. “You have never fathered any children, and your soul has always gone into the children of your siblings or friends. That’s lovely.”

 

Gimli then scoffed again, and the sudden stress left him as quickly as it came. He had been named for his uncle, yes, but also his grandfather, who had had seven children. Gimli was an extremely common name among dwarves.

 

“Right,” he said, quite content with himself now that all was right with the world again. “Sure, Estelle.”

 

“I’m serious! You’ve only ever had the one name, you’ve never been with another person, you’ve never had any children. You’ve got to find your leafy lover, honestly, what are you doing with your life?”

 

“Having a life,” he said, “and not fussing about previous ones.”

 

“Shush, you,” Estelle said. “Oh, and you should know, your leafy lover’s waiting for you, he’s waited one age, he’ll wait another.”

 

Gimli choked again and started to cough, his eyes watering. He had heard that before, but _where_?

 

“I think you’ve confused Gimli enough, Es,” Ryker said.

 

“But if he doesn’t know about his leafy lover, how’s he ever gonna find him?”

 

“I don’t have a leafy lover,” Gimli snapped, “reincarnation’s not real and neither are elves or star-crossed lovers.”

 

Estelle gripped his chin with one hand and did the thing she always did when she wanted someone to tell her the truth; her eyes widened and her lips thinned into a single line, her eyebrows neared her hairline and her nostrils flared.

 

“Have you ever loved anyone?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” he said shortly.

 

“I mean romantically. Sexually. The way I love Ryker."

 

Ryker spluttered and choked as Gimli opened his mouth to answer her and found he could not.

 

“Have you?” Estelle whispered.

 

“Reincarnation’s not real,” Gimli tried to say.

 

“Have you?” Estelle repeated.

 

“No,” he answered in a hushed whisper, an ashamed whisper. “Never.”

 

“Do you have dreams?” she asked. “Of your leafy lover?”

 

“Sometimes, but not about him,” Gimli said, the words spilling from his lips even though he knew he should not say anything, “not normally. Discussing him, more often.”

 

“With who?”

 

“Others. Family, friends…”

 

“Your life now?”

 

“No.”

 

“Instances of other lives?”

 

“They’re just dreams,” Gimli tried.

 

“How many other lives?” Estelle asked softly.

 

“They’re just dre–”

 

“How many?”

 

“I don’t know,” Gimli hissed. “They’re just dreams!”

 

He jerked his chin from her fingers and slid off the bench, then crawled out from under the table.  On a second thought, he turned back and snatched his beer, then stalked away. He heard Ryker trying to scold her for upsetting him and Estelle arguing back that he had a right to know. Gimli tried to focus on his breathing, pushing through the crowds until he found an exit sign. He stepped outside and inhaled deeply the scent of car exhaust and cigarette smoke and just the barest hint of fresh air.

 

They were just dreams.

 

* * *

 

_“Gimli, Legolas!”_

 

_“Ah, Aragorn! My friend and king!”_

 

_“I am not your king, Gimli, I am merely your friend.”_

 

_“Still, ‘tis not every day my friend becomes crowned king.”_

 

_“No, I imagine not. Where is Legolas?”_

 

_“Why do you assume I know where he is?”_

 

_“Oh, hush with your suspicious tone, it’s not hard to know, friend.”_

 

_“What do you mean? I’m sure I have no idea what you’re implying –”_

 

_“Yes, you do, Gimli, you know exactly what I’m implying, and if you were ever trying to be subtle, you ought to gaze at him so fondly less often.”_

 

 _“I – Well… He’s over with the other elves.”_ _  
_

 

_“Have I upset you, friend?”_

 

 _“Well, a little, but… Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing?”_ _  
_

 

_“What do you mean?”_

 

_“Well, if we were so obvious that you know, and forgive me for saying this, but you’re not the most observant of men, then perhaps we will have less difficult of a time telling others…”_

 

_“You think that if you look so obviously in love, your families will not begrudge you your hearts?”_

 

_“Yes. Yes, that is what I mean.”_

 

_“Fear not, my friend. Your families will understand, in time.”_

 

 _“My King, and Gimli, son of Glóin, greetings!”_ _  
_

 

_“My Lord Glorfindel, I see you have found the ale.”_

 

_“Why, yes, I have, it’s not quite as strong as Elven wine, but it’s certainly better than nothing! Gimli, I would offer you my congratulations!”_

 

_“Eh?”_

 

_“On your marriage!”_

 

_“Eh?!”_

 

_“It is plain to anyone who looks upon the face of your husband that he is hopelessly in love. Now, do not look so afeared, Master Dwarf, I would assume you are merely married in the Elven way, there has not been time for all the pomp and circumstance of a Dwarvish wedding!”_

 

_“How did you know?”_

 

_“As I said, your husband’s face gives it away. His eyes light up every time he speaks your name and he smiles in a way that is nothing but fond when your name is mentioned. Ah, here he is now!”_

 

_“Glorfindel, I would hope you are not scaring King Aragorn and Master Gimli with your stories.”_

 

_“Scaring? Bah! But I think I did give poor Gimli a shock. Did you tell him what it meant to be married in the Elven way yet?”_

 

_“Marry –… Beg pardon?”_

 

_“Ha! The pair of you, fools! I shall leave you with your husband, my tankard has gone dry.”_

 

_“Um… Well, this is awkward.”_

 

_“I, uh, am going to go find Arwen. Have fun, and congratulations, I guess.”_

 

_“This is awkward.”_

 

_“Married in the Elven way?”_

 

_“Apparently?”_

 

_“It’s a good thing I was planning to marry you anyway.”_

 

_“Gimli!”_

 

_“What? Ghivashelê, you should know by know that we Dwarves are very stubborn and when we want something, we shall have it.”_

 

_“Oh, Gimli…”_

 

_“Now, I am assuming that we are not needed at this present moment, would you like to accompany me to the nearest lockable room, my husband?”_

 

_“Meleth!”_

 

_“Wipe that shocked look off your face, I’ve been trying to find ways to sneak you out of here all evening! Stop laughing, Elf, I am serious!”_

 

 _“Ah, but, Nogoth velui nín, I have been trying to find a way to sneak_ you _out of here all evening!”_

 

_“Well, what are we waiting for?”_

 

_“Ai, meleth, you never cease to astonish me.”_

 

* * *

 

Gimli hesitated, his hand poised to knock on the door in front of him.

 

“Come on, it’s not like she’s going to mock you,” he muttered to himself. He pulled his hand back, then the door opened. Gimli blinked up at Estelle. Estelle blinked down at him.

 

“Come in!” Estelle declared, then spun around and disappeared into the room.

 

“Okay,” Gimli murmured, stepping into the room.

 

There were books everywhere. Like, everywhere. Every horizontal surface had at least one stack of at least four books. There were papers scattered over the room as well, what looked like half an essay littered the ground by the door. Gimli moved past the entrance and into her little sitting room. He envied her of her flat; she didn’t have to live on campus with assholes who left hair all over the shower.

 

“I’ve got tea, I’ve got coffee, I have guava nectar.”

 

Gimli frowned, then found Estelle standing in a kitchen off to the left. “Why do you have guava nectar?”

 

“Because it’s delicious,” she said. “Tea? You should have tea. I’ll read the leaves, maybe we’ll find out more about your leafy lover.”

 

“How did you –”

 

“And I’ll do a tarot reading for you,” she darted past him, grabbed something from a bookshelf, then darted back into the kitchen. “If you’d like, I can try scrying, but that doesn’t work half the time, I swear, the gods don’t want me to scry.”

 

“You don’t have to scry,” Gimli muttered. Estelle switched on a hot pot and started gathering things from the cupboard.

 

“Do you like cinnamon? I’ll have to stir it with cinnamon, and I’ll put in a sprig of mint, for clarity.”

 

“Won’t that taste disgusting?”

 

“Shh,” Estelle scolded. “Sugar or honey? It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Sugar,” Gimli muttered. Estelle sprinkled something in a mug.

 

“You want to know about love, so let me add some rose petals.”

 

“Rose –?”

 

“Shhh!” Estelle snapped.

 

Gimli just stood there in the doorway, feeling very awkward. Estelle bustled about, adding this and that to his mug, then the water boiled and she poured it into the mug. She covered it with a little plate, then turned back to face him.

 

“Go sit on the couch,” she said.

 

Gimli nodded. “How did you know I wanted to ask you about this stuff?”

 

“A spirit told me.”

 

“A what?”

 

“Just go sit down.”

 

Gimli dropped onto the couch and settled himself, though the feeling of awkwardness never vanished. “So how does this work? Do I gulp down the tea, then swish it around in my cup and let you read the leaves?”

 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Estelle answered, dropping down onto a poof. She scooted it closer to the coffee table and pulled a velvet purple pouch from the lower shelf. “Normally, you’d read them, but I doubt you know how, and I haven’t got the patience to teach you. But you’ve got to let it steep first, in the meantime,” Estelle shook from the velvet pouch a stack of cards, larger than playing cards, with ornate Victorian style art as the backs, “I’ll do a tarot reading.”

 

Gimli eyed the cards with suspicion. He’d seen such things plenty of times in movies and such, and half the time either the death or devil card came up.

 

“I know what you’re thinking, it’s not like the movies.”

 

“Are you a telepath, too, then?” he asked gruffly.

 

“No, I’m just moderately intelligent, and I’ve done this before.”

 

Estelle set the deck on the glass center of the coffee table, then pulled from underneath a thin stick and a wooden tray, followed by a box of matches. “I hope you don’t mind, but it makes it easier.”

 

“What does?” Gimli asked.

 

“Incense. It doesn’t stink too bad, smells sweet but not bad.”

 

“Fine,” Gimli muttered, and she set the stick on the wooden tray, then lit the tip. Soon, a column of smoke trailed from the end, rising into the air. It smelled somehow floral, but also rich.

 

Estelle had leaned her head back and shut her eyes, her hands set on her knees with her palms facing up. She began to whisper under her breath, then crossed herself, and whispered a moment longer. She reached blindly under the table, then tossed something over her left shoulder, and drew her arm in a circle above her head. She opened her eyes, then took a dry erase marker from under the coffee table and drew something upon the glass.

 

Gimli suddenly felt rather unsettled, much as he had done when he’d first met Estelle, but it was quickly replaced by a warm feeling in his gut, as if he’d just taken a swig of liquor on an empty stomach.

 

“Here we are,” Estelle whispered, a small smile gracing her lips. “A lesser Maiar, a servant of Irmo. Their name is Ilȕvæ.”

 

“Er, hi?”

 

“Shh. Ilȕvæ, Gimli here is looking for someone he lost, a long, long time ago. Place your hand upon these cards and tell me who he is looking for.”

 

“But don’t we –”

 

“Shh!” Estelle snapped again, then she began to shuffle the cards. Her eyes fell shut, then she abruptly stopped. She pushed the deck towards him and whispered: “Cut the deck for me, please.”

Gimli hesitated, then gripped the deck between his thumb and middle finger, his index resting upon the cards. He lifted, a few cards fell from between his fingers, and he set the stack, a little less than half, to the side. Estelle set the other half back on top of the first, then pulled it towards her. She dealt three cards, then turned over the first.

 

“In the past,” she whispered, “the Knight of Cups. This person is adventurous, prone to follow their heart even against the will of others, but they are also a romantic.”

 

Gimli said nothing. Estelle turned over the second card.

 

“In the present, Temperance. This person is a balance or a scale, a mediator or peacemaker.”

 

The third card was flipped.

 

“The four of Wands. This person was not only a peacemaker, but a home to some. Perhaps to you.”

 

Estelle gathered the three cards and set the back in the deck. “Do you know his name?” she asked, her eyes meeting Gimli’s once more.

 

Gimli opened his mouth, but could not bring him to speak at first. He had the sudden instinct to go silent, to say nothing, to guard jealously even just the name of his _Ghivashelê,_ his husband.

 

Gimli shut his mouth with a snap. He hadn’t realized, or hadn’t remembered…

 

“Legolas,” he answered. “That’s all I remember.”

 

Estelle nodded, then she picked up the deck again and began to shuffle it. “Ilȕvæ, now that you have shown me who Legolas is, tell us why Gimli cannot find him nor barely remember him. What keeps them apart?”

 

She stopped, then had him cut the deck again. She dealt the cards, but this time, there were three more; she dealt them in a tier, one, two, three, then set aside the deck. She turned over the first card of the lowest tier.

 

“In the past, the Lovers.”

 

“I knew that,” Gimli grumbled.

 

“Shh!” Estelle snapped, but she moved to the second card. “In the present, the Ace of Cups, reversed. You are incomplete, both of you, you find little joy or fulfillment as you are now.”

 

Gimli said nothing. That much, for him at least, was partly true.

 

“In the future.” The third card was flipped. Estelle hesitated, then she smiled. “The Star, a symbol of hope.”

 

“That’s good, right?” Gimli asked before he could stop himself.

 

Estelle only nodded and moved to the next card, turning over the fourth card. “The cause.”

 

Gimli’s jaw clenched. So it was like the movies.

 

“Death,” Estelle murmured. “Or the end of a cycle, or journey. A sundering of a union, maybe.”

 

“Or literally death,” Gimli said. Estelle glanced up at him, then moved to the fifth card.

 

“Consequences,” she said. “The Hermit, reversed. You or both of you have become shrouded, hidden away from the world, for all the wrong reasons.”

 

“I’m not hidden from anything,” Gimli grumbled, but Estelle shushed him again.

 

“The summary,” she said, turning over the sixth and final card. “The Wheel of Fortune.”

 

“I’ve had bad luck?” Gimli guessed. Estelle shook her head.

 

“The Wheel symbolizes the cycles of life,” she answered. “Winter to spring, summer to autumn, life to death. It symbolizes change, as well.”

 

“That’s no use to me,” Gimli grumbled. “I still don’t know where he is or how to find him.”

 

“That’s not what I asked,” Estelle chided him. “But you must look at the cards as a whole, not just as individuals. You and he were once lovers, but something separated you, yet it was something natural, not evil.”

 

She tapped the third card, the Star, and gave Gimli a sudden smile. “But you can have hope,” she said. “Because this is not one linear experience of one thing and then the next. All things return to their proper places eventually.”

 

“But where is he?” Gimli asked. “How do I find him?”

 

“Your tea is ready to drink,” Estelle said, pushing the covered cup to him. “Leave just enough to allow the leaves to swirl.”

 

Gimli picked it up and uncovered it, setting the saucer down on the coffee table and raising it to his lips. The tea was strong, with a sugary, minty taste. It was cool by then, so he drank it quickly. Estelle took it from him, turning it so the handle pointed back at him, then swirled it in her hand three times, and quickly flipped it onto its saucer. She tapped it three times with her middle finger, her nail making a soft _chink_ with every tap, then she lifted the cup up and peered into it. Gimli resettled his weight onto the very edge of the sofa, leaning in to look at the cup as well.

 

Eventually, Estelle set the cup down on the table, only to pick up the saucer and examine the tea and leaves floating in it. This went by much quicker, as she set it back down quickly.

 

“Your story’s sad,” was what she said first. “I was right about how long it’s been.”

 

“Really?” Gimli muttered.

 

“This is definitely not the first time you’ve walked this earth,” she said. “The first time your soul was among mortals was during the Third Age.”

 

Gimli’s eyes widened. He had been born nearly two hundred years into the Ninth Age.

 

“You met him while you were young, but not quite old. You hated each other at first.”

 

“Why?” Gimli asked in half a breath.

 

“I’m not sure, but it took… It took death to bring your animosity to friendship.”

 

“Whose death?” Gimli asked, frowning.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s important. But someone died, and you turned to each other in comfort. You became friends, but you quickly fell in love. Luck was on your side, but it took another close call to death for either of you to say anything, but I don’t think one of you understood at first.”

“I don’t get it,” Gimli said, frowning even harder now. “Why wouldn’t I have understood?”

 

She looked up at him sharply. “I didn’t say it was you.”

 

Gimli hesitated. “I think it was,” he murmured. “I… I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

 

“Either way, one of you almost died, and the other said something about his feelings, but the other didn’t understand at first. It was a while later that it became clear that you both felt the same way.”

 

“How can you get all this from tea leaves?” Gimli asked.

 

“Shush, I’m still reading some of it.”

 

Gimli leaned back on the couch. Estelle picked up his cup again, opened her mouth, shut it, then frowned. “There’s something about wealth, but I don’t know how it’s related. Precious gems, like diamonds? And trees?”

 

“The Glittering Caves.”

 

Estelle looked up at him. “What?”

 

Gimli couldn’t meet her eye; he had no clue where the thought had come from, but somehow he knew what that meant. “We… There are caves within Aglarond, called the Glittering Caves, as they are full of crystals and gems of all sorts. Stories tell that our founder used to love the caves, that he and his –”

 

Gimli broke off, and it dawned on him.

 

“He and his what?” Estelle repeated, trying to prompt him.

 

Gimli let out a gasp and jumped up from the couch, his hands flying to his hair as his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. “The founder of Aglarond! He and his husband would walk the Glittering Caves often, because it was special to them and their relationship!”

 

“Who was his husband?” Estelle asked, her voice confused. “Who was he?”

 

Gimli grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “His husband’s name was lost a long time ago, but his name – his use-name, it was Gimli! I’m, like, the thousandth person to have that name, so many people have it that no one can say which number they are! And the old stories, the oldest stories, they claim that Gimli Glóinul did not die, but took a ship to the Undying Lands with his husband!”

 

“The island of Aman,” Estelle whispered. “Land of the Elves.”

 

“Who are immortal,” Gimli whispered back.

 

“But dwarves are mortal, so he must have died, but his husband never did.”

 

“That’s why he’s still waiting for me! Because he never died!”

 

“Wait, what’s this got to do with you?”

 

Gimli let out a groan and surged away from her, his hands covering his eyes. “For an expert in tarot and tea leaves, you’re really oblivious sometimes.”

 

“What?”

 

“Legolas, whoever he is, he’s an elf! You said so yourself, he’s an elf and he’s been waiting for me, we’re star-crossed lovers!”

 

“Oh!” Estelle jumped from her poof and pointed at him. “Oh! Oh!”

 

“We figured it out!” Gimli shouted.

 

“He’s in the Undying Lands!” Estelle cheered.

 

The door opened. Gimli and Estelle turned, to find Ryker standing there, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Should I ask?” he asked.

 

“Gimli’s leafy lover is in the Undying Lands!” Estelle cheered again, then snatched Ryker’s hand and tugged him further into the room. “He’s immortal and so he’s never died! That’s why Gimli’s never found him, for however many times his soul has returned to this earth!”

 

“What?” Ryker said.

 

“Wait,” Gimli said. “But the Undying Lands… They’re myths?”

 

“Gimli, last week you believed that reincarnation wasn’t real, but here you are!” Estelle grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. “You’re going to find the Undying Lands, because you know why?”

 

“Why?” Gimli asked with a frown.

 

“Because your leafy lover will guide you.” Estelle grabbed the cup from the table and pointed into it. “Because he’s calling for you, because he’s been calling for you since the moment you first died. Look for the white gulls and listen for the song of the sea.”

 

* * *

 

_“Ghivashelê, tell me, do I look dashing?”_

 

_“You look splendid, meleth nín, absolutely stunning. Just as a Dwarf Lord should.”_

 

_“Ach, you are the one who looks stunning. I half want this to be over already just so I can take that off you.”_

 

_“Meleth!”_

 

_“You know it’s true! Âzyungeluh, you make my heart beat just as you did fifty years ago.”_

 

_“I would hope so, meleth, as I look no different.”_

 

_“Give me a kiss, for luck.”_

 

_“You’ve had plenty of those, lately, and we mustn’t be late!”_

 

_“Aye, but give me another one, just because I asked!”_

 

_“Very well, my husband, but just because you asked…”_

 

* * *

 

“Gimli? What are you doing?”

 

Gimli froze, his heart catching in his throat. The bag in front of him was half full, his closet half empty.

 

“Mum,” he said, whipping around. Well, he knew he would have to have this conversation eventually.

 

His mother crossed the room with a frown and looked pointedly at the bag sat on his bed, then at the fully packed one by the door.

 

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

 

Gimli hesitated, his gaze dropping to the leather bound journal on the bed. His mother raised her eyebrows and glanced at it, then narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“Are you going somewhere?” his mother repeated. Her tone was one that left no room for hesitation.

 

“I am,” he admitted, and he tried to hesitate more. He had not the words to explain just yet; he hadn’t been able to plan!

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I – I am not sure.”

 

His mother’s frown deepened and her hand landed on the journal. Gimli flinched, and her eyebrows rose further.

 

“Why are you going somewhere if you do not know where?” she asked him with suspicion in her voice.

 

“I have to,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand, mum.”

 

“Try me,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Gimli hesitated again. Where was his way with words when he needed it; his tongue could find no quick answers, his mind could think of no pretty words, he had nothing.

 

“Gimli?” his mother said. “What’s going on?”

 

Fuck, she sounded worried. Her eyes had gone that width that maintained their shape to express concern, the look that always made Gimli feel guilty for what he had done, or was about to do.

 

“I have to find someone,” he said, and the words were spilling from his lips without thought, without order. “Someone I love. He’s very far away, and I’m not sure where, but I have to find him. I don’t know how long it will take, I don’t know if I’ll even succeed, but I have to do it. Please, understand, mum. I have to find him.”

 

His mother’s eyes had only gotten wider as he spewed words. She took half a step back, then moved forward again and put both hands on his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh the way they did when she was very worried.

 

“Who? Who is it that you have to find? Why can you not tell me where he is?”

 

“Because I don’t know, mum, no one knows!”

 

“Why – Why can you not just contact him, why can’t you be sure –”

 

“I just can’t, mum!”

 

“I don’t understand, you’re right. Gimli, you’re frightening me. Who do you have to find?”

 

Gimli’s throat tightened. He looked down at the bag before him, filled almost halfway with socks and spare underwear. His mother couldn’t stop him. She would try. He would tell her the truth, and she would try to stop him, but she could not.

 

“Do you remember, when I was a child, I had dreams of old words, Khuzdul and more?”

 

“Aye, I remember.”

 

“Do you remember that I said… I said that the words were not the point, but the person that they described?”

 

“Gimli…”

 

“Do you remember that I said I had never dreamed of this person directly? Only of others who spoke of him?”

 

“Aye.”

 

Her voice was hoarse.

 

“I had a dream of him, almost a year ago. Then – A friend of mine helped me figure things out; she’s a practicer of divination, she called upon a Maiar even, to tell me what I was looking for.”

 

“Gimli, please do not tell me –”

 

“I’m looking for someone I loved in another life,” he cut her off. “Someone I have loved in every life.”

 

“Gimli, this is madness –”

 

“An elf.”

 

His mother was silent. Gimli put the final nail in the coffin.

 

“He’s still alive. Elves do not die. He’s somewhere on the ocean, on the island of Aman.”

 

Gimli could not look at her. She was silent even longer, he could count his heartbeats –

 

“This is madness!” his mother shouted. “You cannot believe these things are true! Gimli, there is no such thing as Elves or Maiar or Aman or reincarnation!”

 

“I know you do not understand –”

 

“I understand perfectly clear, I understand that you have gotten things into your head that are false! I knew we should have sent you to a Dwarvish school; those menfolk have filled your head with lies and fairy tales!”

 

“It’s true, mum!” Gimli shouted. HIs mother froze, her chest rising and falling in her rapid breaths. “It’s true. Please, mum. Please, I have to go.”

 

“It’s not true,” she whispered.

 

“Mum, it is! I have longed for him my whole life, for every one of my lives, I have always loved him, I have always longed for him! I cannot just ignore what I know because you are afraid! I have to go, and you cannot stop me!”

 

His mother stared. Gimli wetted his lips, then looked away from her and continued to pack his bag. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

 

“I bought a sailing boat,” he said in half a whisper. “I’ve passed all the tests, I’ve been out on the ocean, spent a week out by myself a few times. I’ll be safe.”

 

“Gimli,” she murmured.

 

“I have to go, mum,” he said. “Please.”

 

His mother touched his shoulder, then his cheek and she turned his face towards hers. Gently, she touched her forehead to his in an old gesture. Gimli let his eyes shut, then she kissed his forehead.

 

“Promise me you will make port once a month to call home?”

 

Gimli’s face broke into a smile. “I promise.”

 

“And you’ll eat healthy?”

 

“I’ll be eating a lot of fish and canned vegetables, I promise.”

 

“And you’ll come back when – if you don’t find… him?”

 

Gimli swallowed. “If I don’t find him in a year, I will come back.”

 

His mother made a sad, disapproving noise, but she nodded. “A year,” she said. “And you’re sure you have the money to do this?”

 

“I’m sure, mum.”

 

“And when you get back, you won’t be flat broke?”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

His mother pulled him into a fierce hug. He let his head fall onto her shoulder and let her hold him for a long while, longer than any hug they’d shared in a very long time.

 

“I love you, my son, Sansûkhâl.”

 

Gimli’s heart clenched at the sound of his dark name, but he nodded into her shoulder. “I love you, too, mum. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

She made another half choked noise, as if she didn’t really believe him. But she released him and pushed a strand of hair from his eyes.

 

“And you’d better keep up with your braids,” she said, sniffing. “I don’t want you coming home looking homeless.”

 

Gimli smiled at her. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

_“I am Gimli, son of Glóin, Lord of the Halls of Aglarond. I wish to the head of your colony, Legolas of the Greenwood.”_

 

_“My Lord Legolas is currently in council, Lord Gimli, it will be some time before he is able to see you, especially since we have had no word of your visit.”_

 

_“You’re new here, aren’t you?’_

 

_“I beg your pardon?”_

 

_“You’re new. How long have you been working for Legolas?”_

 

_“I – I only came to Ithilien a month ago.”_

 

_“Figures. Well, you tell Legolas that I’m waiting for him, he’ll know where I am.”_

 

_“My Lord Gimli, I am afraid you cannot go that way –”_

 

_“I’ll go to where I will be resting my head, Master Elf, I know where it is!”_

 

_“But –”_

 

_“A good afternoon to you…”_

 

_“Gimli?”_

 

_“There you are, Ghivashelê! I’ve been waiting almost an hour!”_

 

_“I will tell Illidan to be more expedient with my messages, then, as he only just informed me you had arrived.”_

 

_“Hmph! I would be annoyed, but he said himself he’d only been here a month.”_

 

_“Enough of this. It has been more than three months since I saw you last, my husband! Meleth, mell Nogoth nín, elen nín!”_

 

_“Aye, because you decided to start a colony, Ghivashelê! And you still haven’t kissed me.”_

 

_“I will rectify that at once, meleth nín.”_

 

* * *

 

The wind whipped around him, strands of hair that had escaped his braids flying in his eyes and catching at his mouth, but Gimli stood his ground. He tugged at a rope, tied it off, then darted around to catch another before it flew from place. The ocean bit and chomped at the hull of his boat, flying up to fall back over the deck of the ship, just to slosh around his feet as he flew about keeping his course steady despite the growing storm. His teeth gritted and his hands burned from the fibers of the ropes, but he could give no quarter. The sea raged at him no matter what he did, attacking him as if he had once personally offended it.

 

He had left from the river Anduin nearly three weeks ago, the sea calm as he’d disembarked only to grow unstable and emotional the further west he went. He had called in a favor from Ryker to access the dig into the ruins of Ithilien, but he’d found the little scrap of information he needed to start. Estelle had told him to trust his heart, so he did; it and the few words in English in an otherwise unreadable book.

 

_We sail west. Our time has ended, a new age has begun._

 

The sea slapped around him and the boat groaned. The wind seemed to hiss in his ear, _turn back, dwarf. you do not belong._ It was a hiss he had heard for over a week.

 

Nevertheless, Gimli persisted. The month was nearly over and he would have to find port to call his mother as he had promised, but he had to make some sort of headway before he headed for land. His dreams were getting clearer, he remembered more than he had ever done before, though still the coordinates of Aman were kept from him.

 

_turn back, you do not belong._

 

Gimli clenched his jaw and strengthened his grip. He would not give in.

 

* * *

 

_“Meleth, Gimli… When will I see you again?”_

 

_“I don’t know. A new season starts soon, they will need me to coordinate every little detail. I don’t think I’ll be able to leave Aglarond for such extended periods of time for several months.”_

 

_“That cannot do! I cannot stand these long absences anymore, meleth.”_

 

_“I have a duty, Ghivashelê. I cannot leave my people.”_

 

_“I… I know. It gets harder and harder to let you go.”_

 

_“I like this no more than you do, Legolas.”_

 

_“What shall we do?”_

 

_“I don’t know… You could come with me?”_

 

_“... With you?”_

 

_“Yes! Come with me to Aglarond, you can leave the colony in the hands of the council, you are not their leader anyway, you can come with me! We could stay there, we would not have to part again ever.”_

 

_“Mell nín, you read my mind.”_

 

_“I did?”_

 

_“I will propose to the council as soon as possible. With any luck, I’ll be able to catch up to you and your party before you have gone so long.”_

 

_“Ah, Ghivashelê, this is music to my ears! Âzyungeluh, I will deliberately be slow so you will catch up ever faster!”_

 

_“Meleth, you needn’t do that, I’ll be leaving by sundown.”_

 

_“Will it be that easy to convince them?”_

 

_“No, they’ll be angry about it for weeks, I’ll leave whether they want me to or not.”_

 

_“Ha! That is my Elf!”_

 

_“I will be seeing you soon, elen nín.”_

 

_“I will see you soon, Ghivashelê.”_

 

* * *

 

“Yes, mum, I’m eating right.”

 

_“And you’re doing laundry, right? I know you said you had a little machine on the boat, but you were always terrible about it when you were a dwarfling –”_

 

“Mum, I am doing laundry, I’m not going around wearing nasty underwear, and before you ask, yes, I have enough.”

 

_“I know, I know, I just worry about you! You’ve been gone almost six months.”_

 

Gimli only nodded and pushed a hand up his forehead, brushing hair from his eyes. “I know, mum. I’m still looking.”

 

_“Gimli, maybe it’s time you come home. I know you’ve got your heart set on finding this – whatever it is, but maybe it’s time you just accept that it’s not real!”_

 

Gimli clenched his jaw. “You’ve been saying that for almost six months, mum. I can’t give up now.”

 

_“But Gimli –”_

 

“I’m sorry, mum, but I’m about to run out of time on the pay phone, I’ve got to hit the market before I get back on the water.”

 

_“Oh. Alright. I’ll – I’ll let you go. I love you, son.”_

 

“I love you too, mum. Say hi to Dad and Idris and the little ones for me.”

 

_“I will. Please, Gimli, be careful.”_

 

“I will, mum, I promise.”

 

Gimli hung the phone back on its hook and pushed his hands into his hair. Maybe his mother was right. He’d been sailing for months, and he’d found no trace of Aman. Maybe it wasn’t real.

 

Yet still, his heart ached, knowing he was so close and still so far. Gimli left the booth to make his way to a market. He needed bait and hooks and more cans of soup and vegetables. It was reaching mid-afternoon and he wanted to be back on the open sea before twilight.

 

He couldn’t give up so quickly.

 

* * *

 

_“To the sea, to the sea! The white gulls are crying.”_

 

_A hand brushed his forehead._

 

_“The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.”_

 

_Tears dripped onto his skin._

 

_“West, west away, the round sun is falling.”_

 

_Hair soft as cornsilk brushed his neck, a head rested on his chest._

 

_“Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling?”_

 

_Fingers curled in his beard and hair, gripping tightly his marriage braid._

 

_“The voices of my people that have gone before me?”_

 

_The singing stopped for a moment, as a soft sob overtook it._

 

_“I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me.”_

 

_The voice was trembling, shaking with sorrow and grief._

 

_“For our days are ending and our years failing.”_

 

_Fingers cupped his cheek again, trailing over his cold skin._

 

_“I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.”_

 

_They brushed his lips and touched his temple once more._

 

_“Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling.”_

 

_A hand tugged gently at his marriage braid again._

 

_“Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling.”_

 

_Tears fell again onto his skin._

 

_“In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover.”_

 

_His chest rose and fell, and moved not again._

 

_“Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever…”_

 

_And sobs sounded out again, but Gimli heard no more._

 

* * *

 

“COME ON!” Gimli screamed out into the night. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

 

Not a sound answered him. Gimli fell to his knees on the deck of his ship, feeling hot tears pricking at his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, then screamed again at the sea that would not answer him, at the empty sky full of stars that gave him cold light and the moon that did not send him sympathy. His yell ended in a ragged sob, and he dropped forward to lean on his arms, his face cupped in his hands. His heart only ached harder the longer he searched, an alien grief for someone he’d never met but somehow had loved his whole life. It had been almost a year.

 

He was broken. He had nowhere left to look.

 

“I do not know what to do,” Gimli whispered. “If there is a Valar or a Maiar or whatever out there watching me, please.” His voice broke. He let out another sob.

 

A strange warmth came over him suddenly, as if a breeze blowing from the south or as if he had taken a shot of liquor on an empty stomach. Gimli sat up, almost without thought, and with his eyes still closed, inhaled deeply a scent that was floral and rich. He remembered that afternoon in Estelle’s apartment, the spirit she had called for guidance.

 

The wind seemed to whisper in his ear. _do not give up, dwarf. you now belong._

 

“Ilȕvæ,” Gimli whispered. “Show me the way.”

 

A sudden screech jerked his eyes open. A white gull sat perched on the bow of his ship; it pecked at something between its feet, then let out another call.

 

_To the Sea, to the sea. The white gulls are crying._

 

The gull took off into the air and flew off to port; Gimli jumped to his feet and ran for the helm.

 

_The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying._

 

Gimli began to sing along, knowing the words even though he could not remember where he had heard them first, and his heart lifted.

 

“West, west away, the round sun is falling.”

 

He remembered the way!

 

* * *

 

_“Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling.”_

 

_Only the gulls answered him, and no one could comfort his tears. His mother had tried, his father had held him, his brothers had once stayed by his side, and still his tears came and his heart ached and he called for his love. In the thousands of years that had passed, he had been on the brink of fading and kept from his grief only by the magic of the lands of his people. He sang and sang, never stopping, for if there was any hope in him, it was that his song would carry across the sea to his husband, his beloved Dwarf, and his husband would come for him. He had been promised. Nienna wept for him and Manwë promised that when he returned, he would be given the Gift of Elves._

 

_“The voices of my people that have gone before me?”_

 

_The Gift of Men would bring his husband back to him._

 

_“I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me…”_

 

* * *

 

The gulls flew around his sails and many landed on the ship. Gimli greeted each one with joy, glad now that the gulls were there, though he had hated them in his youth, now they were a sign. He was close!

 

“To the sea, to the sea, the white gulls are crying!”

 

His voice rose with triumph now, rather than sorrow as it had once done. The gulls cried and the slapping of the sea against the hull made a melody for him to sing to, and he would sing it until he saw the fair shores of Aman. He could remember now, the white sand and the little stone cottage that he had built with his own hands many thousand years ago. He could remember now the gulls that did not take but would lead. He remembered waking to the sound of the sea and the gulls, and though he still could not remember his face, he remembered Legolas’s name.

 

“I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me!”

 

It was nearing sunset. The gulls gathered around his boat in greater scores just to fly away and return, as if making sure he was still following them.

 

“Sweet are the voices of the Lost Isle calling!”

 

The flock of gulls gathered on his bow suddenly took off, and their chatter went silent. The sea quieted beneath him and the wind left. Gimli froze, his breath caught in his throat, wondering if that was a good omen or a bad one.

 

“In Eressëa, in Elvenhome…”

 

Gimli’s heartbeat caught in his throat, too, and in the utter silence, he heard a voice.

 

“Where the leaves fall not…”

 

Gimli’s hands slipped from their place and he walked, in a daze, to the bow of the ship. He heard a voice, yet he saw nothing.

 

“To the sea, to the sea, the white gulls are crying.”

 

“I know that voice,” he whispered.

 

“West, west away, the round sun is falling.”

 

He did know that voice, and it was getting louder! It was still the barest whisper, the faintest trace, but it was getting louder!

 

“Grey ships, grey ships, do you hear them calling?”

 

And the bow in front of him suddenly vanished. Gimli jumped backward in fright, colliding with the main mast as the ship started to vanish inch by inch. Frozen in fear, he watched the deck fade until his feet stood on the very edge, and then it reappeared.

 

He looked around, the ship was no longer vanishing, but appearing. As if passing through a curtain, the ship appeared behind him steadily, until it was clear as day. He ran back to the stern and saw nothing but a haze of heat behind him.

 

“For our days are ending, and our years are failing.”

 

Gimli turned around and let out a gasp. Where there had been nothing but open sea before, an entire island had appeared, and not far behind it, another shoreline ten times as vast. Gimli gaped in astonishment as the sea guided the ship along towards the island. The voice, clear as day and soft as silk, never ceased it song, and Gimli found himself relaxing under it. He knew that voice…

 

“Sweet are the voices of the Lost Isle calling…”

 

The ship scraped against the sand, and then it stopped. Gimli took a hesitant step forward, then stopped. A gull landed on the deck and cocked its head at him. It opened his mouth and let out a cry, then fluttered onto the beach, where it turned back and looked at him.

 

“To the sea, to the sea, the white gulls are crying.”

 

Gimli leapt from the boat, splashing into the water and getting his shoes and pants soaked in an instant. He trudged from the water onto the shore, where the gull cried and fluttered away another small distance.

 

“Are you leading me, friend?” Gimli said to it, and it bobbed its head before crying aloud again.

 

“West, west away, the round sun is falling.”

 

The gull hopped along, then took into the air as he reached it. He followed it down the coast until it vanished over a hill. It fluttered back into sight, peering down at him, and squawked again. The voice was ever louder, repeating its song. Gimli scrambled to get up the steep hill, wondering as he did how long he had been singing.

 

The gull let out a cry, then it flew up into the air. Gimli followed it with his eyes, then stopped at the sight of the stone cottage. He could hear the tremors now, the tears that made his voice shake and break every so often. Gimli’s feet moved slowly at first, his heart thundering in his chest, then he broke into a run.

 

“Sweet are the voices of the Lost Isle calling.”

 

Gimli stopped at the doorway, where no door now hung. The cottage was small, but the side that faced the cliffside had a vast window that allowed for a wide view of the sea. Sat before it, his skin pale and his hair grown long…

 

“In Eressëa, in Elvenhome no man can discover,” Legolas sang in a voice laden with grief, “where the leaves fall not, land of my people for–…”

 

He broke into a sob, the air going still and silent but for his crying. Gimli stepped forward.

 

“Land of my people forever,” he sang in a murmur.

 

Legolas’s shoulders stopped their shaking. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned around. He stared, his mouth open and his eyes wide, as if he could hardly believe the sight before him; Gimli could hardly believe the sight before him, his Elf was just as fair and beautiful as the dim flashes of memories had shown.

 

“I heard the call of the gulls,” Gimli whispered.

 

“You –” Legolas seemed lost for words, his eyes unwavering even as tears slipped from them still.

 

Gimli took half a step forward. “ _Ghivashelê_ ,” he murmured.

 

Legolas leapt to his feet and crossed the cottage’s width in two steps; Gimli caught him in his arms and held tightly to him, for now that he had found him, finally, he did not intend to let go.

 

“You came,” Legolas whispered.

 

“I came,” he answered.

 

Legolas’s lips met his and Gimli kissed him as if he had not kissed him for nearly five thousand years, which he hadn’t. Legolas clung to him as if he hadn’t seen him for nearly five thousand years, which was true. Their kiss was hungry, their embrace desperate, their fingers clenching tightly to clothes and hair and anything they could grasp. After what could have been another thousand years, their kiss broke.

 

“What took you so long, foolish Dwarf?” Legolas whispered.

 

“I kept forgetting your name, daft Elf,” Gimli snorted. “Why couldn’t it have been something a little less complicated, like Fred?”

 

“Fred would have been much too commonplace,” Legolas sniffed. Then he grinned and pressed his lips to Gimli’s forehead. “Ai, _meleth nín_ , _mell Nogoth_ , my husband! I have missed you.”

 

“I missed you too, _Ghivashelê_ ,” Gimli said, his voice low and rasping. “In every life, I missed you.”

 

“Well, this is unexpected.”

 

Gimli jumped half out of his skin and jerked his head around. Legolas patted his head reassuringly.

 

“Another Elf?” Gimli muttered. It had to be, it was too tall to be a man, besides, this place _was_ the home of the Elves.

 

“You have forgotten me?” the Elf said, raising one eyebrow in an expression of… something. Gimli wasn’t sure how to read the Elf’s expression. He couldn’t even tell if the Elf was man or woman or if the Elf was meant to look like neither. The Elf had no beard of any kind, though that didn’t help him, Dwarvish women had beards, but he supposed that Elves were meant to be more like men, which would mean that Elven men ought to have beards.

 

“Gimli, that is my father.”

 

“Oh,” Gimli said. “So you’re a guy Elf, then. Sorry.”

 

Legolas’s father raised the other eyebrow. “Indeed.”

 

“What’s his name?” Gimli asked Legolas in a whisper.

 

“Thranduil,” Legolas answered in an equally quiet voice. He was smiling, the way he did when he was trying not to smile but not quite enough.

 

“You know, I was beginning to worry that Dagor Dagorath would come before you did, Gimli Glóinul,” Thranduil said. “But I suppose the Valar have patience plenty.”

 

“Forgive me, Thranduil,” Gimli said. “It took me quite a long time to remember the way.”

 

A corner of Thranduil’s mouth twitched, then he inclined his head and touched one open hand to his chest. Gimli blinked.

 

“What is he doing?” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth to Legolas.

 

Legolas let out a laugh and turned Gimli’s face back to his to press a kiss to his mouth. Gimli could only accept that his confusion amused his Elf, because he was rather fond of kissing him. He heard someone clear their throat, but did not bother to stop kissing Legolas.

 

“Oh, for the love of – Fine, come out when you’re done.”

 

“He’s going back to the village,” Legolas murmured against Gimli’s lips.

 

“Good for him,” Gimli said. “I’m busy.”

 

Legolas laughed again, a sound that was musical and set delight rippling through Gimli’s very soul, and threw his arms around Gimli’s neck.

 

“It has been five thousand years since you died,” Legolas whispered. “I will not part from you again.”

 

Gimli felt his chest tighten and he pressed a hand to Legolas’s cheek; his love’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a small sigh, pressing his face into Gimli’s palm.

 

“I am still mortal, _Ghivashelê_ ,” he murmured. “I will still die one day.”

 

Legolas shook his head firmly, his fingers coming to grip Gimli’s hair tightly. “No, the Valar have made us a promise. They gave you the Gift of Men and said that when you came back, you would be allowed to return here, and if you did, they would give you then the Gift of Elves.”

 

“The Gift of… of Elves?” he repeated. “I don’t know what that is.”

 

“Immortality, _elen nín_ ,” Legolas whispered. “Until the world is remade at Dagor Dagorath, you will live alongside me forever.”

 

Gimli stared at him for a moment, thinking of Wee Talan and Little Gimzi and his parents that were already old, and in that moment he decided that the rest of eternity with Legolas would be better than any life without him.

 

“I will take it if they will give it,” he whispered. Legolas seemed to melt into him and he pressed his face into Gimli’s beard, his breath coming out in a heavy sigh.

 

“Thank you, _meleth_ ,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

 

“I would not be parted from you again, either, daft Elf.”

 

“Are you done yet?”

 

Legolas let out a frustrated groan and lifted his head up to glare at the Elf in the doorway. “Ada, would you _please_ just go away for five minutes!”

 

Gimli sniggered. “He’s a dad, it’s what dads do.”

 

“Yes, and this _dad_ has been waiting for his son’s husband to arrive for the past five thousand years so that I can present you to the Valar again and have my son stop wasting away to grief, thank you very much!”

 

“I’m not wasting any longer, and if you’d go away for longer than a minute, I can do the very opposite of wasting away!”

 

“The what?” Gimli said. “Wasting away? What?”

 

“It was only the magic of Aman that kept Legolas from succumbing to his grief, Dwarf,” Thranduil snapped. “And the sooner you get the Gift of Elves, the better!”

 

“Ada!” Legolas groaned. “One hour, _please!_ ”

 

“He’s not getting any younger,” Thranduil said.

 

“I’m a hundred and twelve!” Gimli said.

 

Thranduil paused. “Does that mean you are young or old? I can never tell with mortals.”

 

“He’s _young_ ,” Legolas said. “One hour. We will be at the village in one hour.”

 

“What are you going to do that takes an –”

 

Thranduil’s mouth stopped mid-sentence. He went pale, then pink, and then turned on his heel and strode away.

 

“Bye!” Gimli called after him cheerfully. Thranduil waved a hand in their direction but did not turn to face them. “I don’t get it,” he said to Legolas.

 

Legolas kissed him. “I’m going to put your braids back in for one,” he said in a low murmur that sent a chill down Gimli’s spine. “And then I’m going to have you, because it has been _five thousand years_ , husband.”

 

“Oh!”

 

Legolas’s hands were talented, it seemed. His fingers twisted the two braids into Gimli’s hair without his even needing to look, as he did not stop kissing him until they were finished. Then his talented hands pushed into Gimli’s clothes and Gimli found himself losing track of every second.

 

The sun had set when they rose and dressed. Gimli kept twisting the new braids between his fingers; they were familiar, somehow both comforting and strange to feel in his own hair.

 

“I think it’s been more than an hour,” Gimli said smugly to Legolas. His husband swooped down to press another kiss to his mouth and he grinned beside himself.

 

“I care not,” Legolas said. “They’ll get used to it.”

 

“Oh, so this is going to be a regular thing? I like this plan!”

 

Legolas smiled at him, then offered his hand. Gimli took it, allowing his husband to lead him away. They reached the village soon, and apparently, Thranduil had had time to warn the other Elves, for they did not stare when Gimli arrived, but inclined their heads and touched their hands to their chests in that same strange gesture Thranduil had given him when he had first arrived as they passed. Legolas walked with his head held high, his hair trailing behind him, his face clear and his smile wide. Gimli could not stop looking at him; he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he had a vague recollection of an Elven Queen gifting him something that not even the greatest of Elves had been given.

 

“Finally,” Thranduil sighed. “Are you ready? They are inside.”

 

Gimli couldn’t help but feel his heart skip; he was about to meet the _Valar_ , the bloody _Valar!_

 

“We are ready,” Legolas said.

 

Thranduil opened the door for them and they stepped inside.

 

The Valar, it seemed, looked like Elves, just somehow taller.

 

There were fourteen of them, seated on thrones in a semi circle, and at the side of each were two others that Gimli supposed to be Maiar. One met Gimli’s eye and he felt the sensation of drinking a shot of liquor on an empty stomach.

 

“You have arrived.”

 

This was the centermost, a fair-haired being, with, surprisingly, a shapely beard. Gimli felt reassured that at least some folk obeyed reason.

 

“I have,” Gimli said. “You will forgive me if I do not recall with the greatest accuracy all of your names. It has been a very long time since I last stood before you.”

 

He probably knew them once, but the Valar hadn’t been covered in primary school.

 

One of them laughed, though none of the others even smiled. The one who did, a man, going by the beard, who sat directly to the first one’s right, grinned triumphantly at the others.

 

“You see?” he said. “I made his tongue with silver, did I not?”

 

“Yes, we see,” said the fair-haired bearded one. “I am Manwë, Wind-King and King of the Valar.”

 

They went counter-clockwise, it seemed, for the one to the left of Manwë spoke next, a feminine form that reminded Gimli strangely of Estelle. “I am Varda, the Star-Queen and Queen of the Valar.”

 

“They are married,” said the one who had laughed.

 

“I didn’t assume they were,” Gimli said with another bow, “but it is good to know.”

 

Manwë did not look amused, though it was hard to tell, but Varda cracked a smile.

 

The next to speak was a woman with strangely green tinged pale hair to Varda’s left. “I am Yavanna, Fruit-Giver and Lady of the Earth, wife to Aulë.”

 

Gimli figured Aulë would say who he was later.

 

To her left was a woman with white skin and hair, her blue eyes the only bit of color about her. “I am Nienna, the Weeper and the Lady of Mercy.”

 

It seemed that the women were on the left-hand side of the semi-circle, then, for the next, another fair-haired feminine figure, said: “I am Estë the Gentle, Lady of Healing and Rest, wife to Irmo.”

 

To Estë’s left was another fair-haired woman – the Valar seemed to favor fair hair – who said: “I am Vairë the Weaver, wife to Mandos.”

 

To her left: “I am Vána the Ever-Young, wife to Oromë.”

 

The last of the line: “I am Nessa the Dancer, wife to Tulkas.”

 

Gimli looked to the one who had laughed, but the one to speak was the last of the line, a man with rather impressive muscles. “I am Tulkas the Wrestler, Champion of the Valar.” Gimli could tell why.

 

To Tulkas’s right was a man with darker hair, not quite as dark as the one who had laughed. “I am Oromë the Huntsman, Lord of the Forests and the Great Rider.”

 

To the right of Oromë sat a beardless man – Gimli guessed, he could not go by beard or no beard –, with an unforgiving face. “I am Mandos the Doomsman, Judge of the Dead.”

 

Cheerful fellow. To his right sat another beardless man, who looked strikingly similar to Nienna. “I am Irmo, Lord and master of dreams, visions, and desires.”

 

To Irmo’s right was a man with a vast, blue – _blue? why is it blue?_ – beard. “I am Ulmo, the Sea-King and Lord of Water.” _Ah, that is why it is blue._

 

Finally, the one who had laughed spoke. “I am Aulë, though you will know me by the name Mahal.”

 

Gimli stifled a gasp by clapping a hand over his mouth. Legolas smiled down at him.

 

“Mahal’s –” Gimli started to swear under his breath, then stopped, thinking it would be rather rude to discuss his maker’s balls right in front of him.

 

“I hope we have satisfactorily refreshed your memory,” Manwë said.

 

“Yes, very much so, my Lord Manwë,” Gimli said, giving a deep bow. “Again, I ask your forgiveness for my lapse in memory.”

 

Mahal seemed to catch his eye, and Gimli wondered if his maker knew that he hadn’t known any of their names at all to begin with.

 

“It is forgiven,” said Varda with an incline of her head.

 

“My Lords and Ladies.”

 

Gimli looked around, seeing Thranduil step forward and past them. Thranduil did the strange gesture again, and Gimli decided that if Thranduil would give that gesture to the Valar, it was probably good that he (and others) had offered it to him.

 

“If I might ask. Five thousand years ago, you gave the Gift of Men to this Dwarf and told him that if he managed to return to you, you would then grant him the Gift of Elves.”

 

Thranduil extended an arm to Gimli. “He has returned.”

 

“So it would seem,” Manwë said with a heavy sigh. “I cannot pretend to have had much hope for your return, let alone desired for it.”

 

Varda looked at her husband, one eyebrow raised. Manwë seemed disgruntled and he leaned forward in his chair. Mahal looked extremely pleased, as he had done since Gimli had walked in.

 

“Well, then come forth, Dwarf,” Manwë said. “I shall give you your Gift.”

 

Gimli very reluctantly released Legolas’s hand and stepped forward. He dropped to a knee before the King of the Valar and bowed his head, one fist pressed to his chest in a gesture of deepest respect.

 

A warm something touched Gimli’s crown. He did not move or look up as the warmth spread over his scalp and seeped through his skin. Soon, he was encompassed by the warmth; much different than the feeling of being approached by a Maiar, this warmth traveled from the outside inwards, until he felt it everywhere.

 

And then it was gone. Gimli hesitated, then looked up. Manwë pulled back his hand and rested back in his seat, giving a nod of satisfaction.

 

“It is done,” he said. “Go forth, Gimli, son of Glóin, of Gimríz, of Gämzih, of Gimzir, of Gama, of Hama, of Rama, of Ygdris, of Lambim, of Läbin, of Kadȃn, of Dane, of Kinrar, of Felrar, of Lanu, of Jana, of Talan, and find your peace on the Isle of Aman, for you are now immortal.”

 

Gimli rose, a little shaky as he’d tried to count how many people he had been the son of – he’d lost at Ygdris, of course she had named her lad after him, he had thought, though the thought confused him and he’d missed a few – and bowed low to Manwë, then back up and bowed again to all the Valar.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, so much, Lords and Ladies.”

 

Manwë inclined his head to him, and Mahal grinned broader.

 

Gimli turned back to Legolas, who beamed at him. He took his husband’s hand and kissed his knuckles, then let Legolas lead him out again and back to the little cottage on the seaside.

 

“Legolas, how would you feel about sailing out for a brief visit to a working phone so I can tell my mother that I’ve found you? And my friend, Estelle, so she knows she was right.”

 

Legolas only laughed. “Of course we can, _meleth nín_. We have all the time in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _ah, the acknowledgments section. fun stuff, right?_  
>  two lines have been borrowed from the opening prologue to fellowship the ring movie, “the world is changed…” and “some things that should not have been forgotten” you know those right.  
> the names of Gimli’s mother and sister (Mizim and Gimrís) and his dark-name have been borrowed from determamfidd’s story [Sansûkh](http://archiveofourown.org/works/855528/chapters/1637607), which you should know bc you’ve read it, right? if you haven’t, what are you doing with your life?  
> The lore included is based entirely upon the [wiki](lotr.wikia.com), as i haven’t the patience to read the whole Silmarillion myself for one fic.  
> you should also know that this work was inspired by a comic done by [notanightlight](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com/post/152321427988/the-relic-a-mostly-modern-au-i-promise-there) that’s like incredible so go check it out.  
> [here is Legolas's Song of the Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZ2nrsOhpxc) as sung and composed by Yolanda Mott, the lyrics are from Tolkien's verse but she did the arrangements and all. additionally,  
> [here](http://senatorofsorcery.tumblr.com/post/163079280087/the-white-gulls-are-calling-story-cover-featuring) is a story cover that i made for this fic, which i think at least is v pretty.  
> finally, again, shout out to determafidd bc all the Khudzul and Sindarin translations came from their fic bc i was much too lazy to go and find an actual translator when i could just search Sansûkh for the words i needed. please leave a kudos and a comment if you so wish!
> 
> -Khudzul:  
> Adad: mother  
> Amad: father  
> Azyungeluh: my love of all loves  
> Ghivasha: treasure  
> Ghivashelê: my treasure of all treasures  
> Inùdoy: son  
> Namad: sister  
> Namadith: little sister  
> Sansûkhâl: One of perfect/clear sight
> 
> -Sindarin:  
> Ada: father  
> Elen: star  
> Eressëa: _an island off the coast of Aman_  
>  Meleth: love  
> Mell: beloved  
> Nín: my  
> Nogoth: Dwarf  
> Velui: sweet
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _follow me on[tumblr](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/)_


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